


Provide Me

by coveredsnow



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Age Regression/De-Aging, Avengers Family, Avengers Tower, De-Aged Tony Stark, Domestic Avengers, Ensemble Cast, Gen, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Kid Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-28
Updated: 2019-04-15
Packaged: 2019-08-09 02:25:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 52,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16441238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coveredsnow/pseuds/coveredsnow
Summary: Tony wakes up a lot younger than he's supposed to be. The team is less than completely sure how to handle this.Tension headaches, a little heartache, and a lot of learning ensues.





	1. Chapter 1

Someone had taken his designs down.

He blinked, vision blurry with sleep. The view remained the same - a blank, white ceiling. No schematics. No blueprints.

He sat up, heart thudding in his chest. Was he in trouble? If his designs had been taken down –

His tummy squeezed tight as he realized this wasn’t his room at all.

This wasn’t even home.

This room was huge, easily three times the size of his bedroom. The bed was massive, with shiny black covers - he could see his feet poking up, not even a quarter of the way down. The wall to his right was a dark red, the ones in front and behind of him white - and to his left ...

Tony swallowed past a lump in his throat as he looked out of a huge window, onto a city that was too bright, too tall, too impossible.

He was a long, long way from home.

***

“Captain Rogers.”

Steve looked up from the coffee machine, slightly embarrassed that he’d moved Tony’s AI to pity, but more relieved than anything else.

“Jarvis, hello, uh.” He cleared his throat. “So I’m aiming for a black -”

“There is another matter which requires your attention, although I would be happy to prepare some coffee for you.”

“Uh - right, thanks, that’s -” Steve put the cup down, grimacing at the cracks in the handle. “What’s up?”

“Mr. Stark appears to have undergone a transformation overnight.”

Steve blinked. No further information was forthcoming.

“A transfor - sorry, Jarvis, you’re going to have to give me a hand here.”

“He appears, to all intents and purposes, to be a seven-year-old boy.” Steve braced his hands against the kitchen counter, and sighed.

“Tony ... OK, very funny, but also,  _very_  early in the morning. If you could hold off until -”

“I assure you, Captain, this is no joke,” Jarvis interjected, sounding slightly stressed. “It is against my programming to lie.”

“Right,” Steve snorted, gingerly picking up the cup, now full of hot coffee. “If this is a ploy to get coffee delivered, I’m surprised he doesn’t have a machine in his room.”

“Captain Rogers, I assure you -”

“Right, Tony, I’m coming, I’m coming,” Steve grumbled, heading toward the elevator to the personal levels. “Honestly, your dependence on this stuff, anyway …”

He faltered a little in his stride when the elevator doors opened to reveal Natasha, her brow furrowed.

“Nat?”

“Did Jarvis call you?”

“Yes - well, I sort of assumed it was Tony -” Nat shook her head.

“No, I don’t think he’d mess with me. He values his limbs too much.” She smiled. “I was mid work-out, though, so if this does turn out to be a ruse, I’m all warmed up and ready to push him through something glass and replaceable.” Steve stepped in alongside her.

“You can’t seriously be suggesting that he’s a child?”

“Figuratively? Absolutely. Literally? Well … those were _actual_ Nazi dinosaurs we fought last week.” The elevator doors opened on Tony’s floor.

 “Where’s everyone else?” Steve directed to the ceiling, beginning to accept that this was how his morning was starting. They headed for Tony’s bedroom.

“You are the two on site I thought proper to inform,” Jarvis said. “Mr. Barton is perhaps not best suited to the sensitivity of this situation, and I deemed it unwise to put undue, unexpected pressure on Dr. Banner.” Steve raised an eyebrow.

“Well, now I’m concerned.”

“We’re also the best looking,” Natasha said, smirking at Steve. “Maybe this is his way of propositioning us for a threesome.”

“Are you -” Steve stammered, heat flooding his face, “Do people really -” Nat laughed and slapped him on the back, which he didn’t find reassuring at all. She reached for the door.

“If I may,” Jarvis said. “Captain, I thought you should be informed, but I believe it would be wiser for you to initially remain outside. Ms. Romanov will be better received.” Steve frowned, and took a step back. He felt adrenaline begin to prickle his skin. This did sound more like Jarvis than Tony. Nat’s eyes narrowed.

“If there actually is a child in here, Jarvis, I hope you’re not suggesting it needs ‘a woman’s touch.’”

“I can assure you, Ms. Romanov, the situation is rather more complicated than that.”

“Isn’t it always,” Nat muttered, pushing open the door.

***

Tony tried to look brave. He thought of how Captain America would act in this situation. Probably kick down some doors and knock out all the bad guys, but if Captain America were weak like him. The two doors hadn’t budged at all when he’d tried them, so he’d accepted that he’d been kidnapped. Again.

These kidnappers must be rich, to give him such a big bed; last time his room had been grimy, cramped, dark. There had been no windows. Tony had thought about banging on the window that stretched across one wall, writing a message for someone to see – but when he went over he saw that it was too high up to do any good, and looking down made him feel sick.

The only other things in the room were two bedside tables, with empty glasses and some tissues on top. In the top draws he’d found some strange foil packets, and in the bottom a pair of man’s pants, matching the size of the huge T-shirt he’d woken up in. He wondered whose clothes they were, feeling cold and dizzy at the thought of facing kidnappers that big, and with his injuries, too. There was a clothes hanger stuffed far underneath the massive bed. And that was it.

With nothing else to do, Tony had crawled back into bed so they wouldn’t know he’d been looking around, and waited.

The door opened slowly, and Tony bit his lip to stop himself from making a noise. His hands shook, so he closed them into tight fists, nails digging into his palms. His left forearm throbbed. A lady poked her head around the door. She had short, red curtains of hair, and a small frown on her face. His suspicions were confirmed. He had never seen her before.

Strangely, she seemed just as unhappy to see him. She came in, closing the door behind her, and took slow steps toward the bed. Tony wanted to shrink down under the covers – but he wasn’t a little kid. Besides, she was a lady; it was usually men who were horrible. He wanted to think she’d be nicer, but something about the way she moved, with no sound at all, was almost scarier than someone big and noisy. He sat up straight, ignoring the pain in his chest, and swallowed past the dry, achy feeling in his throat.

“Who are you?” the lady asked. Tony blinked. That wasn’t how kidnappings usually went. His mind raced. Maybe they thought they’d got the wrong person?

“Gabe Jones,” he said, and the lady raised her eyebrows.

“Well, that’s a lie,” she said softly, and Tony cringed. Everyone had read the Captain America comics. What a stupid, childish thing to say.

“What’ve you got there, kid?” She asked, nodding at the covers to Tony’s right. He flinched, clutching his weapon tighter. “Is that –” Tony got the impression that she trying not to smile, and felt hot humiliation in the back of his throat. “Is that a _clothes hanger_?” Tony shook his head, and suddenly felt himself grasping at thin air, his legs cold at the sudden absence of covers. The lady was examining the wooden clothes hanger he’d found under the bed, the metal hook bent into a stabbing point. “You could do some real damage with this,” she said, and Tony knew she was patronizing him, and he _hated_ it. He tried not to shake as he waited for his punishment. She looked at him. “You’re really scared, aren’t you,” she said quietly, not quite a question, but he answered nonetheless.

“No.”

“Tony?”

“You said you didn’t know who I was.” And Tony was fighting back tears, because this wasn’t how this sort of thing was meant to go.

“Tony Stark?”

“My father won’t pay you,” he said, suddenly feeling confident, because this was one area where he had the upper hand. “Stark Industries doesn’t deal with ransom demands, and neither does my father. You’re not getting anything. So you should just let me go, before they come and catch you.”

“Tony … we’re not trying to get a ransom. You’re reading this wrong. You haven’t been kidnapped.” Tony blinked, tears welling up again.

“Where _am_ I, then?” he said, biting down on his lip hard enough to hurt when he heard the high, panicked whine in his voice. The lady sat on the edge of the bed, and gazed toward the massive window.

“Well, I suppose … you’re in the future.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading and kudos! I'm really excited to post this story. Come back next Sunday for another chapter :)
> 
> If you enjoyed reading this, please consider leaving a comment to let me know what you liked <3
> 
> Follow my writing tumblr at [coveredsnow](http://coveredsnow.tumblr.com/) for updates and any behind-the-scenes information you like. You can also [subscribe to me on Ao3](https://archiveofourown.org/users/coveredsnow/) to get notifications when the next chapter is posted x


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all your comments and kudos! <3 Here's a little context for this 'verse:
> 
> This takes place vaguely post-CATWS, pre-AOU. I didn't aim to set it then, but it made the most sense as I wrote. Hence: 1) they’re in Avengers Tower 2) no Wanda or Vision 3) Jarvis and Sam are around 4) search for Bucky is ongoing.  
> The main differences will be: 1) they met Strange earlier 2) SHIELD was re-legitimized sooner. CATWS is the last film I'll treat as canon - from then on it's all to play for ...

Steve waited nervously outside the door, sipping his cooling coffee. It was too quiet in there for Nat to be yelling at Tony, and he began to dwell on the possibility of a seven-year-old Stark. He snorted at a mental image of a tiny kid with a shock of brown hair and oil on his face, elbow-deep in machine innards. Of course, if Tony really had turned into a child (which, _no_ ), they’d handle it. Sometime in between waking up seventy years in the future and meeting Stephen Strange, he’d tried to let go of the word ‘impossible’.

It was bizarre to think it, but in the 1970s, Steve had been legally dead. He would be like a ghost to a child Tony.

A child … Might he talk about his father? Steve had initially hoped Tony would be able to reconcile the vibrant young man he’d known to the gravestone he’d visited, one in a long series of horrifically depressing trips. But he always seemed to hide behind a hologram at the first hint of sincere conversation, if he didn’t step out completely.

Steve closed his eyes, not liking the self-serving turn of his thoughts. It was just so horrible, looking up your friends in museums. Clint had walked him through Wikipedia on Wednesday; at 4 AM last night Steve had asked Jarvis to block it from all of his technology, eyes burning as he closed down endless tabs, opened in search of the lives he’d missed. On page six of the google results for “Howling Commandos” he’d found a ‘meme page’, and a dull nausea had settled in his stomach as he’d realized his team were old enough to be comedy material.

He blew a shaky breath outward, trying to ground himself. He took a step closer to listen at the door, and jumped back immediately as he heard steps coming toward him. Natasha slid through, closing it behind her before he could look in.

“Nat?”

“It wasn’t a joke.”

“ _What?_ ”

“There’s a seven-year-old boy in Tony’s bed, wearing one of his T-shirts.”

“And you – what, you left him in there?”

“He’s not going to spontaneously combust. We need to think of a plan.”

“Item one, on any plan, is making sure he knows he’s safe.” Steve moved to open the door, and Nat brought up an arm to block him.

“If that _is_ item one, then having a long-dead supersoldier barge into the room probably isn’t a fantastic way to go about it.”

“Well – I –“ Steve rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m not going to disappear. We’ll have to introduce me sooner or later. What have you told him?”

“That he’s in the future.”

“ _What?_ How does that factor into gradual acclimatization?”

“I’m not going to lie to a child, they hold grudges.”

“Are you sure you’re not thinking of cats?”

“He already doesn’t trust me. He thought he’d been kidnapped. And I’m not sure I convinced him otherwise with the time-travel explanation.”

“Kidnapped?” Steve’s head swam. Of course, Tony had the sort of life to make the paranoid fantasies of any kid seem likely. He had woken up in a strange place, with no one he knew, and – hang on. “Jarvis, could you give us a hand? Weren’t you based off of Tony’s butler?”

“While ‘based off’ is somewhat reductive, Captain, I believe the salient point is _dead_ butler.”

“Oh. So –“

“Sir being a bright child, the existence of a disembodied artificial version of his butler will lead him to an upsetting conclusion.”

“You’re full of winners today, Steve.”

“Well, feel free to come through with your own great ideas.”

“We should inform the team. Get Strange. Let a medic take a look at him. That should at least assure him that we want him safe.”

“Or that we’re sizing him up for the slaughter,” Steve said, rolling his eyes.

“Steve.”

“Well, we don’t need to outsource for a medic, we can have Strange and Bruce take a look. Bruce will want to check that Tony’s OK, anyway. I’m not having someone from another organisation poke at him. If this gets out, he may find himself genuinely kidnapped. As far as the world outside this tower is concerned, Tony Stark is fully bearded and through puberty.”

“How long can we keep this a secret?”

“Hopefully, Strange can tell us how long we’ll have to. Jarvis?”

A display dropped down, Stephen’s face next to _Calling Grindelwald_.

“He’s a –"

“I know.”

“ _Hello?_ ”

“Doctor, we need your help.” A sigh.

“ _What have you done?_ ”

“It’s – we haven’t ‘ _done_ ’ anything. It’s kind of hard to –“ Steve shook his head, reminding himself that he was talking to a literal wizard. “Tony’s sort of … seven years old?” He looked behind him, and saw that Nat had slipped into the bedroom again.

“ _And you’re sure it’s magic?_ ”

“Well – er –" For God’s sake, he wasn’t qualified for this. “What else would it be?”

 _“I don’t know, you guys have all kinds of weird shit going on._ ”

“Look, I thought time travel was your thing. Isn’t this what you’re good at?” A pause. Steve rolled his eyes. It was almost too easy.

“ _It is one of my many areas of expertise. There in a mo._ ” A glowing circle of sparks appeared in the hall, and Strange stepped through. Steve caught a glimpse of dark wooden bookshelves before the portal closed.

“Do you –" Steve blinked. “Do you dress like that all the time?” Strange’s cloak settled pointedly on his shoulders.

“Get back to me when you have sentient clothing, rather than a latex propaganda machine.” He sniffed the air, nose wrinkling. “Ah, yes … there’s magic here. I sense it.”

“What, really? Just like that?”

“No, of course not. Where’s the kid?” Steve flushed a little. One day he was going to lock Stephen and Tony in a room together, and see who cried first.

“He’s through there, I’ll just – hang on.” He knocked. Stephen raised an eyebrow.

“He’s seven years old and still running the house?”

“He’s seven years old, and we’re trying to settle him in before he sees the supersoldier who’s been dead for thirty years. Nat’s in there.” Nat poked her head through the door.

“Stephen. Great. Could you come in?” Steve felt a bit awkward.

“What about me?” He said in a low voice. “Am I just waiting out here?” Nat rolled her eyes.

“Call a meeting. Tell the team. What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing, I just –“ He shifted awkwardly. “Normally kids like me. It’s a bit weird being a liability because I’m technically deceased.” Nat’s eyes softened a little.

“Sorry, champ. Give us time to calm him down, I’m sure he’ll love you enough to provide ample blackmailing material. He probably has an action figure of you at home.” Steve wasn’t sure if that was reassuring or weird, but he smiled a little.

“OK. I’ll break the news.”

“Film it, would you?” Nat winked.

***

Tony had pulled his knees up under the shirt, so he was fully covered as he sat on the bed. The lady – Natasha, apparently – had said he was in the future. Tony was worried she might be mad.

But … when he’d looked out the window earlier – the buildings were different from the ones he remembered. The cars looked different. The people, small as they were on the street below, were wearing different clothes.

But it was still New York.

Tony hugged himself tighter to keep from shaking. If he really was in the future, did that mean no-one was coming to get him? Were they searching the mansion back in 1977, with no idea where he’d gone? And how had he gotten here? He supposed someone in the future might have invented time-travel technology, but Natasha said they didn’t know why he was there.

She might be lying. This might be a cross-time kidnapping. Maybe future-him had done something bad, and they were trying to get rid of him before he had the chance. He looked up, wide-eyed, as Natasha re-entered.

“Are you hungry?” She asked. Tony shook his head. She shrugged, and sat down on the bed again. “Sorry, I don’t know what to do with children. I figure you’re meant to keep them fed and watered.”

“I’m not a baby.” Natasha smiled.

“Didn’t say you were. We’ve got a couple of people coming who will check that you’re fine health-wise, and hopefully figure out how you ended up … so tiny.” Tony shrunk down further. He didn’t need to be reminded of how weak he was. “Hey – I didn’t mean that in a bad way. Just … relatively.” Tony frowned. Relatively was the only way that mattered. Realization crossed Natasha’s face. “Oh. Guess I didn’t explain myself too well, earlier. See, I don’t think you’re actually …” There was a knock on the door. “I’d better let strange explain.” She walked over to open it. Tony was more confused than ever. What was strange?

There was so much he didn’t know or understand here. It loomed over him, threatening. It seemed that Natasha was talking to multiple people outside. Tony wondered how many of them there were. He should work out who he’d have to sneak past as soon as possible. Then, when he got out … What? There was no one here to look for him. People might not know who he was. So many of the buildings outside looked different – maybe the mansion wasn’t even there anymore. Maybe -

Then Natasha was followed into the room by the strangest man Tony had ever seen. He had a weird beard, and was wearing a long red cloak and a massive necklace. Natasha gestured at him.

“This is strange,” she said. Tony nodded hesitantly, not wanting to offend either Natasha or this new man. The new man rolled his eyes.

“My _name_ is Doctor Stephen Strange.” He held out a hand to Tony, who reached out tentatively to shake it. A grin began to spread across the doctor’s face. “Oh-ho-ho,” he said, and rubbed his hands together. Natasha looked a bit uncomfortable.

“He’s hopefully going to be able to tell us why you’re here, and how we can get you back to normal.” Tony frowned. There was something they weren’t telling him. He didn’t want to make them angry, but neither of them had seemed aggressive so far …

“Do you mean get me back home?”

“Well – this is your home,” Doctor Strange said, looking closely at him. “You understand that, don’t you?” Natasha pinched the bridge of her nose.

“This isn’t my home.” Tony’s stomach squirmed. A kidnapping was seeming more and more likely. “I live in a mansion. With my mom and dad.”

“Well, maybe you _think_ you do, but –“

“Strange.”

“What?” Natasha sighed.

“Tony – when I said you were in the future – for _you_ , it’s the future. But … I don’t mean that you’ve been transported here. It’s more like … you were an adult. But now you’re not. You’ve been … shrunk. I think? Stephen?” Doctor Strange nodded.

“Quite right. It’s fascinating, really. You see, your …” His voice faded out, blocked by a high buzzing, as everything Tony saw went a bit blurry. He was seven. When he went to bed last night, he’d been alive for seven years. He couldn’t even go to college yet. He had no memories past that time, none of the knowledge you needed to be an adult. He didn’t fit the pants in the bedside cabinet. He couldn’t –

“Tony? Tony?” His eyes refocused, and he was immediately scared. He hadn’t been paying attention. They would be angry.

“Start him slow, Strange,” came Natasha’s quiet voice from the corner.

“Of course. I apologize.” Doctor Strange smiled again, but Tony didn’t find it very friendly. It looked more calculating and excited than anything. Tony didn’t feel particularly excited.

“So – your body … your _self_ , is usually an adult. Up until last night, you were about fifty years old.” Tony blanched, and Natasha snorted.

“Not the time, Strange.”

“Well, maybe not quite. But now, from what I can tell, someone – ah.” Doctor Strange turned around as if to ask Natasha something, but then faced Tony again. “How are you with the concept of magic?”

“Stephen …” Natasha groaned, resting her face in the palm of her hand.

“Well, I’ve got to start somewhere!”

“I’m not a baby,” Tony said. He didn’t see why they felt the need to pretend things were even weirder than they clearly were.

Then a tiny man appeared in Doctor Strange’s hand. He walked up and down his palm a few times. As Tony watched, open mouthed, the man turned into a single tulip. Then a long green flame. It jumped off Doctor Strange’s hand onto Tony’s, and Tony gasped, while Natasha took a step forward – but there was no pain. Only a gentle warmth. It went harmlessly up Tony’s arm, turned briefly into a butterfly – then vanished. Doctor Strange clapped his hands.

“So. Magic. Questions later. As I was saying – it seems someone has cast a spell on you, hence your smaller form. Not to worry, it should be reversible –“ He smiled – “I’m rather good. I’ll just need my books, and ideally the identity of the caster.” He turned to Natasha. “Any ideas?”

“Not at the moment,” she shook her head slowly. “But we should talk with – the rest of the team.” She gave Doctor Strange a look, and Tony recognized it as the ‘adults need to talk’ look. He hunched up miserably. He supposed magic wasn’t much crazier than time travel. If he’d been cursed, he’d been right about one thing. Adult-him had done something bad, and now he was being punished. Natasha walked over to the bed, and seemed about to touch him, but stopped short. “Look, kid,” she said, “I know this must be frightening.”

“I’m not scared,” Tony said, hearing the wobble in his voice and hating it, _hating_ it.

“OK, then,” she smiled. Patronizing again. “I know this must be strange. But I promise you – and if you don’t trust me yet, that’s fine, I understand – everyone here wants you to be safe. We won’t let anything bad happen to you. This really isn’t a kidnapping. Anything you want, just ask, and we’ll try to get it for you.” Tony looked at her. She didn’t seem to be lying. But he didn’t know her.

“Please may I have a glass of water, ma’am?” It was best to start small. And if they weren’t actually kidnappers, he might have done damage already, being so disrespectful. Natasha gave a small smile, and patted the bed by his feet.

“I’m not a ma’am.” Tony blushed. “Just Natasha will do. Sit tight, and someone will bring in your water soon. We’ll figure out somewhere for you to stay –“ She looked around the room with distaste – “I’m sure we can do better than this. In the meantime …” She seemed slightly at a loss. “Uh. Do you read?”

“I can read,” he said, trying to keep indignance out of his voice.

“Right. Strange, can you magic up a book?”

“The word,” Doctor Strange said, a book appearing in his hand, “is _conjure_.” He placed it next to Tony, gave him a nod, and walked out the door.

“Don’t mind him,” Natasha said, winking. “Delusions of grandeur. Adult-you –“ But she shook her head, awkwardly patted the bed by his feet again, and followed Doctor Strange, closing the door behind her.

Tony picked up the book. It was called _Hello? Is Anybody There?_. It looked like a children’s book, and Tony sighed. But he opened it anyway, and started to read.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Kudos and comments make me so so happy <3 Next week - more Avengers.
> 
> In the meantime, if you're missing Hallowe'en, I wrote some [seasonal Stony fluff](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16466060): more team-dynamics, and this time the only stake is Who has the Most Fun. For all your spoopy needs xx
> 
> Follow me at [coveredsnow](http://coveredsnow.tumblr.com/) on tumblr for news about other fics, updates, and to hmu with any questions x


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little expansion on my 'verse context from last week:  
> While AoU isn't and never will be canon here, I've picked and chosen aspects of it to incorporate into these characterisations, so you might notice some of those referenced or implied.  
> However, Clint's random family is not one of those things. In fact, I'm taking cues from fanon and the comics more than the MCU in my writing of (HoH) Clint. 
> 
> OK, meet the gang! xx

“Band meeting,” Clint said from the back of the room, in a clipped New Zealand accent. Steve assumed it was one of the references he peppered his speech with whenever Steve was around, in an attempt to force him into consuming more ‘essential' culture.

“Thank you all for coming,” he said, seating himself at the head of the briefing table.

“How serious is this business?” Bruce asked, shuffling some papers. “I ask because of the lack of red flashing lights; I have a project –"

“It’s not necessarily an emergency, but it is pretty important.”

“And true to form, Tony isn’t here,” Clint said, propping his feet up on the table. “I suppose he’s snorting cocaine off a pretty important model’s asscrack?”

“Clint.” Steve refused to rise to the bait. “Tony’s actually the issue.”

“Then shouldn’t he be here?” Bruce said, and Steve’s heart went out to him for the concern immediately apparent in his face. “I mean, we shouldn’t be talking about him without –“

“No, Bruce, I don’t mean he’s done anything wrong. He’s – and nobody panic when I say this, like I said, not an emergency – sort of in trouble.” Everyone sat up a little straighter. Steve felt a swell of pride at the team they’d built.

“He was fine last night,” Sam said, pausing in the folding of a paper airplane. “We were talking over some improvements to my wings. Seemed normal.”

“He didn’t check in at the lab this morning, but I assumed he was sleeping in. Is he OK?”

“Well, he’s –“ Steve sighed, glad he’d only have to explain this once. “Please just bear with me. He’s seven years old.”

Silence. Then a low chuckle.

“Sam, I’m serious.” The chuckle stopped.

“It’s never enough with you people, is it,” Sam muttered.

“Seven years old?” Bruce had taken his glasses off, and was polishing them nervously. “Mentally? Physically?”

“Both.”

“Well, damn,” Clint said. “I mean, Nat’s been telling him he has the mental age of a five-year-old for years, but –"

“And that’s exactly the sort of wisecrack I hope we can make, once we figure out what’s gone wrong, and how we can fix it.”

“Sorry Cap, I don’t think this is the sort of problem you shoot arrows at.”

“No, but it is the sort of problem you gather intelligence for. We’ve got Strange on-site -" A groan went around the table – “And we’re going to be _polite_ and _cooperative_ , so we can get our preferred goateed smart-alec back as soon as possible.”

“I can’t _stand_ that guy,” Clint muttered, chucking a bouncy arrow-head at the ceiling and catching it. “He’s like Tony on LSD.”

“Well luckily for you, you won’t have to talk to him much. Nat says –“ Steve glanced at his phone – “that he wants to find out the identity of whoever cast this spell.”

“So it is a spell, then?” Bruce said, pursing his lips. “Not a chemical compound, or technology, or anything bound by the conventional laws of the universe?”

“Not this time,” Steve said, giving Bruce a small smile. “So Clint, you’re on intelligence-gathering duty. Footage of anyone we’ve fought in the past few weeks, surveillance of anyone with an MO that seems like it might stretch to this – whatever you think best, I won’t tell you how to do your job.”

“Aye-aye, Cap,” Clint said, taking his feet off the table. “Is Nat with me on this?”

“I’m not sure yet. Possibly she’ll want to be, but …” Steve spread his hands out. “Whether we like it or not, we have a child in the tower now. We’ll need someone on-site to keep him safe, and so far Natasha’s the only one who’s had prolonged contact. Jarvis doesn’t want to speak with him in case it upsets him, and he also says it might upset him to see me.”

“Wait. You haven’t seen him yet?” Sam leaned forward. “Steve, are you sure - and I mean really, truly sure, before I end up in a viral video - that they’re not pulling your leg?”

“I’m sure,” he said with a tired smile. “Nat, Tony, Stephen and Jarvis aren’t exactly a classic prank team. And I’ve never seen Nat look so uncomfortable before.”

“Sounds like she’s going to love babysitting duty,” Clint said.

“My guess is it’ll be a team effort. You’ll be on reconnaissance most of the time Clint, and I’m not sure how much I’ll be around – how much it’s a good idea for me to _be_ around – but Bruce, I think you should try to get to know the kid.”

“Why does everyone always want to put me next to whatever’s most fragile and irreplaceable?”

“You’ll be fine. You can make sure this transformation isn’t having any weird health side-effects; chat about science, whatever else you two talk about, science. You’re a good neutral influence, like Natasha.”

“Hey!” Clint said. “Why am I not a neutral influence?” Everyone looked at him.

“You are a _terrible_ influence, Clint,” Sam said. “I’d let Strange babysit my niece before you.”

“How’s that for bird solidarity,” Clint muttered.

“Sam, if it’s OK with you, I’d like you to up your patrols. I’m sure I don’t need to explain to any of you that this story remains inside the tower. Fly around a bit more; make Tony’s absence less noticeable.”

“Oh, the vanity patrols, you mean? The ones that do nothing for the city’s safety, but get him on lots of Instagram feeds?”

“Those are the ones.” Sam grinned.

“Sweet. Watch Falcon trend.”

“What about the Wizard of Oz? What’s he doing?” Clint asked.

“Hell if I know. Stirring potions? Whatever he needs -“

The door opened, and Natasha and Strange walked through.

“Did you wait until we were talking about you to come in?” Clint asked, narrowing his eyes. Strange raised an eyebrow, taking a seat close to Steve’s end.

“I don’t need to eavesdrop to hear what people are saying about me. I have magical ears.”

“Bullshit.” But Clint looked uncomfortable.

“Is he OK?” Bruce asked, leaning forward.

“Without the beard, he looks about forty years younger,” Strange grinned. Clint mimed firing arrows into the back of his head as he swiveled to face Steve. “He’s fine,” he said into the silence that followed. “Healthy, unhappy, tiny. The idea behind the spell is relatively simplistic – it’s not so complicated as someone methodically turning back time on Tony’s body, more that his body’s been temporarily forced into a seven-year-old iteration of itself … does this mean anything to you?”

Steve smiled carefully, wondering how anyone could look exasperated that they hadn’t all spent a year in a mountain retreat learning the mystic arts.

“I think, as you put it, this is your area of expertise.” Strange huffed.

“Well, the important thing is, nothing that happens to him while he’s a child has the potential to start a cataclysmic domino effect of universe-altering proportions.”

“Jesus,” Bruce muttered, massaging his temples.

“And can you get him back?” Sam asked impatiently.

“First of all, the word _back_ is misleading – he hasn’t _gone_ anywhere. His normal self is merely bound by magical ties to a younger form.”

“Merely,” Clint signed behind him, slow with sarcasm.

“As such," Strange continued, "it’s not a question of retrieving Tony, so much as snapping his current restraints. Doing so incorrectly or hurriedly could prove very damaging to his health, in new and fascinating ways.” Bruce coughed and stared at the wall.

“Wait for the ‘however’,” Nat said tiredly, leaning against the corner of the room.

“However,” Stephen continued, a flicker of irritation crossing his face, “I see no reason why the proper removal of this spell should be an insurmountable challenge. I have several avenues of research I can pursue. The process would go significantly quicker given knowledge of the caster’s identity.”

“Right!” Clint said, pushing back from the table. “I think that’s my cue to leave, seems like I know everything I need to. Nat, are you coming?”

“Not so fast,” Steve said, gripping the underside of the table. He hadn’t had a headache since the serum, but his brain felt like it had been tumble-dried. “We need to work out a babysitting rota.”

“No _way_ ,” Clint moaned, and Sam began to chuckle again. “I did not sign _up_ for this shit.”

“When you sign up for the Avengers, kid, you sign up for anything that comes your way,” Sam said in an approximation of what he called Steve’s ‘propaganda voice’.

“Sam, for that, you can take bedtime tonight.”

“What?? How is that fair? I have flying to do!”

“Once your project is finished, Bruce, it would be good if you could help out too.”

“What time do seven-year-olds even go to bed? When do we have to keep him occupied until?” Bruce asked. Everyone looked at each other. No answer was forthcoming.

“Stephen … any idea of a time frame for this thing?” Steve asked. Stephen shrugged.

“A week? Two? Less if you can find out who cast the spell. I’m not doing anything until I know for sure it’s safe.”

“Right … Bruce and Nat, if you could do some research on … looking after a child?”

“No.” Steve looked at Nat. He’d been hoping for cooperation from her, at least.

“No?”

“No.”

“… Fine, I’ll help Bruce.” Steve realized he kept waiting for someone else to butt in, redirect or shape the conversation. Someone to tell him he was being stupid, or back him up. He sighed. “We’re also effectively a man down, so keep that in mind when accepting missions. I imagine Jarvis will be able to help us on a tech front -?”

“Happy to assist, Captain.”

“But don’t get too complacent. Hopefully I’ll be able to pitch in with babysitting in soon, and if we can get Tony used to taking guidance from an AI, it’ll lessen the need for one of us to be supervising him. Nat, you can help Clint with intelligence gathering, but I’d appreciate it if you remained on-site these first couple of days, seeing as you were the first to interact with him.”

“Fine.”

“I’ll do some googling,” Bruce said, “hopefully it turns out seven-year-olds have the capacity to self-entertain.”

“Give him some nuts and bolts to rub together. Maybe Jarvis can work up a child-friendly version of his workshop?” Sam suggested.

“OK, that’s a possibility, with a _huge_ emphasis on ‘child-friendly’.” If anyone could find a way to blow themselves up with Play-Doh, it was Tony.

“What about the jolly blonde giant?” Strange asked. “He’s probably on a similar wavelength to a seven-year-old Stark.” Steve’s ears picked up several sets of gritted teeth. Only _they_ were allowed to make fun of Thor.

“Thor’s not on Midgard at the moment,” Natasha said calmly. “Family troubles.”

“If everyone knows what they’re doing,” Steve said, wanting to end this torture as quickly as possible, “I think that’s class dismissed.”

“What about Pepper?” Nat said. Silence.

“Are they …”

“Is he …”

“Will she …”

“OK, so no-one knows what’s going on with Tony and Pepper,” Steve said. Awkward laughter. “But whatever the nature of their relationship, we do need to tell her that the owner of her company is a child.”

“I think she’s in Tokyo at the moment,” Natasha said. “I’ll handle communications.”

“And Rhodey’s on deployment, there’s no point hunting him down. It’s not like Tony would recognize him anyway,” Steve said. “Hopefully this will all be over in a few days.” He looked around the room, checking that no-one else had anything to say, and allowed himself to relax a little. “Briefing over.”

Everyone filed out gradually, the paper plane Sam threw at the back of Strange’s head disintegrating into ash a few inches from its target. Sam and Clint air high-fived anyway. Steve waited until only Nat remained to let his forehead rest on the table.

“You know, this is pretty low-stress, relative to the other shit we field,” Nat said, coming over and resting a hand on the back of his neck.

“I know, it’s just … he’s there all the time, you know? Right now, something we’re doing or not doing could be upsetting him. It’s not just a punch-through and clear-up. There are endless ways this could go wrong.”

“Well,” Nat said, and Steve raised his head to catch her smile. “Right now, he wants water. Let’s see if we can manage that without poisoning him, and go from there.”

***

“You told him he could have _anything_ he wanted? Gee, I can’t see how that might backfire.”

“Comforting children isn’t exactly my day-job, Steve. And I think he’ll be much easier to handle once he believes he can trust us. He tried to call me _ma’am_.” They were in the communal kitchen, a trickle of water filling a glass as slowly as possible.

“Jarvis, you know more about child Tony than us. Any ideas?”

“If you’re looking for a cheat-sheet for children, Captain, I’m afraid I can’t help you,” came the prim voice. “I suggest you consult your instincts. Kindness and encouragement are supposed to go a long way, although he will be wary to accept them at first.”

“I mean, there’s nothing you can tell us about what’s going on inside his head? Considering he jumped straight to the conclusion that we were kidnappers, I don’t want to accidentally convince him we’re holding him for child experimentation or something,” Steve said. There was a pause. Steve frowned at Natasha. Jarvis didn’t usually pause.

“While the concept of a child-proof workshop has some merit, I would suggest you wait until he is comfortable before making the suggestion to Sir. He is not permitted access to Howard’s workshop and laboratory at home, and will possibly perceive it as a trick.”

“A trick?” Steve said slowly.

“Perhaps a contrivance for his injury, or for you to judge his capabilities. That will appear more likely than you providing a room solely for his amusement.”

“So tinkering’s out as an occupation method.”

“We could always get the kid marbles,” Natasha said, grabbing the full glass and downing it in one. Steve stared at her. She shrugged. “If you pretend it’s vodka, it takes the edge off.” She replaced the glass under the faucet.

“Not quite, Captain,” Jarvis said, and a display dropped down in front of him. On it was a list of equipment mostly beyond his understanding. “If you provide him with these items, in the rooms in which he is staying, he will likely enjoy experimenting. But you should emphasize that he is free to make whatever he likes, and that there is no deadline for a finished product.”

“Jesus Christ, in case he thinks we’re getting him to make tech for us,” Natasha muttered, going for the water again. “Trust us to get the most paranoid seven-year-old in New York.”

“Indeed,” Jarvis said. “It may also be helpful to emphasize that he is not required to create anything violent in nature.”

“You’d think that would go unsaid,” Steve said, scrunching his face up. “We don’t want him blowing his arm off. Listen … Jarvis, I feel like this would all go a lot easier if you could talk to the kid. Could you … I don’t know, maybe change your voice? And we can call you something different while he’s here? Sorry, is that rude?”

“Not at all, Captain,” Jarvis said in a smooth female voice. “What would you like to call me?” Steve blushed, and Natasha, catching his eye, choked on her water. He held up a silencing finger.

“Um … Jane? No, that’s Thor’s girlfriend. Um … could you just pick a name that doesn’t already have any associations?”

“Karen. I will retain these details and mitigate certain notable aspects of my personality when Sir is within ear-shot.” Steve winced.

“That doesn’t sound … Karen – Jarvis – I don’t want to make you do anything you don’t want to do.“

“It is not so different from being undercover, Captain,” Jarvis said in his normal voice. “I assure you, it is no inconvenience to promote Sir’s well-being.”

“Right. Well … do you want to introduce yourself, then?”

“I believe it would be wise for a human to provide some warning.”

“You’re probably right,” Steve said, eyeing the overflowing glass of water. “Do you still think it will upset him to see me?” Another pause. “Jarvis? Are you OK?”

“Quite well, Captain. It is merely hard to predict his reaction,” Jarvis said, sounding hesitant. “As with many children, you are something of a larger-than-life figure. I remain of the opinion that your presence may be overwhelming.” Nat placed a hand on his shoulder, which had slumped.

“Let’s just give him time to acclimatize. I’ve had Jarvis prepare a guest-room for him. Fetch some of those gadgets from Tony’s workshop, bring them up. I’ll take the kid his water, and lead him through when you’re done.” Steve snorted.

“You’re just going to hide me?”

Nat smiled. “It’s a big tower.” She picked up the glass. “I’ll make sure he’s settled down with ‘Karen’, and hover non-threateningly in the background until Bruce can wrap up his experiments. I’m sure you can find some way to keep yourself useful.”

“Wait. So we’re not letting him know about me yet. What _do_ we tell him? If it were me, I’d want to know everything about my future.” Nat paused, chewing her lip.

“I might not know kids. But I know people. The most important thing, right now, is trust. I’m not suggesting we burst in there and tell him how many PAs he slept with between the age of twenty-five and thirty-five. But if he asks a direct question, we should be honest.” She gave a smile, tinged with sadness. “The truth will out.” Steve nodded, too out of his depth to argue.

 Nat toweled off the sides of the glass, and walked out toward the elevator. Steve suddenly remembered that kids had to eat. It was ten AM, and Tony hadn’t had anything yet. He opened the fridge. This, he could do.

“Jarvis, what’s Tony’s favorite kind of sandwich?”

“Banana and pepper,” came the prompt reply. Steve blinked.

“Excuse me?”

“Banana and black pepper, Captain. I’m told it’s delicious.”

Steve shook his head and reached for the ingredients. One step at a time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading :D Writing this is such great fun, knowing that other people can enjoy my story. Do please leave kudos / comment if you liked it! I love hearing from you <3


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for your kudos and comments! Makes me so happy <3

It took Tony a second to register the knock on the door. The book was very good. When he did hear it, he snapped the book shut, and nearly shoved it under the pillow before remembering they had given it to him.

It was Natasha again. She was holding a glass of water, and smiling.

“Hey. How’s the book?” Tony nodded uncertainly. It wasn’t a useful way to spend his time. He wondered how long it would be before they gave him something to work on. He took the glass from Natasha, and sniffed it. “If I were going to poison you, I wouldn’t use one you could smell.” Tony’s eyes widened, and she winced. “Oh, OK. Unhelpful. Here.” She took a sip, and gave it back to Tony, who tentatively followed suit. He really was thirsty. When he’d swallowed about half of it, Natasha said, “For future reference, me drinking it doesn’t really prove anything. I could have built up a tolerance. You barely checked that I’d even drunk any.” Tony set the glass down quickly. “But it wasn’t poisoned!”

“If you’re not a kidnapper,” Tony said quietly, “why do you know so much about poison?” Natasha gave him a secretive smile.

“I’m a superspy,” she whispered. Tony tried not to roll his eyes.

“If you were a spy, you wouldn’t _tell_ me,” he said.

“Sure I would,” Natasha said. “I trust you. Adult-you knows already. We’re team-mates, actually.”

“I’m a _spy_?”

“Well – not exactly. Yours was never the surreptitious approach. Er, sneaky.” Tony narrowed his eyes.

“What’s my job meant to be, then?” Natasha smiled.

“You’re still not quite buying this, are you.” Tony just looked at her. “Your job is a little harder to explain. It’s probably better to show you than tell you.” She looked at him thoughtfully. “I bet you’re pretty good with technology, aren’t you?” Here it came. His work for the day.

“Not yet,” Tony said, looking at the book folded in his hands. “I’m trying to get better.”

“That doesn’t sound right,” Natasha said. “Tony Stark, child prodigy?” Tony looked at her to see if she was joking. She was frowning a little. “Didn’t you make a circuit board when you were four? And a motorbike engine recently?”

“Well … yeah, that’s the kid stuff.” He wondered why she’d be interested in those, of all things.

 Natasha smiled. “Not from where I’m standing. Either way – adult-you is a little bit of a genius. Or, as you’d probably protest, a lot of a genius.” She swept her hand downward, and a light-blue, see-through square appeared in mid-air. As Tony gaped, a man’s face appeared. He had dark brown hair, and a funny beard. Lines of text came up next to the face.

 _Tony Stark_.

 _… master’s degrees in engineering and physics … founder of the Maria Stark Foundation_ – abruptly the text disappeared, replaced by a video. Tony squinted a little, not quite sure what he was seeing. A red and gold shape was zooming through the sky, fire shooting from its end. It started doing flips and twirls, diving with dizzying speed before shooting upward, like the planes in the air-shows they sometimes visited. But it was too small to be a plane. Tony moved closer, nearly putting his face through the blue square – then the video zoomed in, and Tony gasped. The flying thing was in the shape of a _man_.

“Is – is there a person in there?” Natasha tapped the display, and the video changed to the machine landing on the ground. A piece of metal came off the head, to reveal a face underneath. A person with a funny beard. Natasha poked her finger into the square, the light bending around it.

“You’re in there.”

***

Steve breathed out slowly, his back against the elevator door to his floor, feeling slightly idiotic. Sneaking around the tower to avoid a child didn’t feel a very superhero-esque thing to do, but the last thing the team needed was him rocking the boat.

“Jarvis, can you give me surveillance footage for Tony’s new room?” A translucent display appeared in front of him, remaining about three feet ahead as he walked into his kitchen for some orange juice. The room on the feed was relatively plain, but felt cozier just by virtue of being smaller and less sparsely-furnished than the futuristic monstrosity Tony apparently slept in. Steve’s first thought, when he had carried Tony to his bedroom after some Asgardian liquor several months ago, had been _‘Orgy room’_.

The room Nat had chosen for child-Tony had pale blue walls, a single bed in the corner with dark patterned covers, a small round table with two chairs, and plenty of floor space, now slightly obstructed by a miniature mountain of technological junk that might as well be from _Star Wars_ for all Steve understood it. He had placed Tony’s sandwich and a smoothie (although, thinking about it, he wasn’t certain whether Tony _enjoyed_ smoothies or just saw them as a necessary side-effect of DUM-E’s company) on the table. He watched nervously as Nat walked in, followed closely by a small boy.

He sat down heavily as wide brown eyes scanned the room. It was Tony, unmistakably. The little pull-down frown at the sides of his mouth was a nascent version of the expression he got when things weren’t going his way during briefings. The poor kid was obviously still scared: his walk was tense, contained, like he was worried about drawing attention to himself. He was wearing a plain red shirt and some dark pants that Nat had had delivered. Nat smiled when she saw the sandwich on the table.

“This is your room,” she said. “You’re not confined here, but we thought it would be nice for you to have your own space. Someone’s made you some food – again, not poisoned, sorry about before.” _What the hell?_ Tony had picked up the sandwich gingerly, and gave Nat a careful look before taking a bite. His eyes widened. “Not good?” Nat asked.

“How did …“ Tony peeked at the contents of the sandwich. “How did you know I liked this? Only Jar- only my butler makes me these.” Steve cursed. What a stupid trip-up. He tried not to dwell on Tony having a butler to make him sandwiches, while he and Bucky had struggled to feed themselves at all. Nat didn’t miss a beat.

“Like I told you,” she said, crouching down a little, “adult-you lives here. We’re your friends. We know the stuff you like.” She winked, and Tony matched her gaze for a moment, before taking another bite. He looked at the tech on the floor, and put the sandwich back on the table.

“What do you want me to make?”

“Whatever you like. Or you don’t have to make anything at all, if you don’t want to. We just thought you might want some things to play around with.” Tony looked up at her.

“I’m not a baby.”

“And this isn’t a pacifier. Actually, that reminds me; there’s someone I want to introduce you to, for when none of us can be around.”

“Us?”

“The rest of your team,” Nat said. “This person – well, she’s a member of the team too, but she can help us out _and_ look after you, at the same time.”

“I don’t need looking after,” Tony said quietly. “I won’t be any trouble.”

“You’re no trouble at all,” Nat said smoothly. Steve snorted, imagining what the rest of the team might say to that. “Now, this lady is called Karen – but she’s not quite like you and me. Karen, do you want to introduce yourself?”

“Hi, Tony.” The kid jerked, then stilled instantly. “I’m sorry, I don’t have a physical body; I’m an artificial intelligence system, installed into this tower and most of the advanced technology owned by your teammates. It’s no effort for me to monitor your safety while assisting them. If you have any questions, just call me by name, and I’ll be listening.” Huh.

“Nice undercover work, Jarvis.”

“Thank you, Captain.”

Tony was open-mouthed. He turned to Nat.

“Really? Someone invented artificial intelligence?” She smiled.

“Someone did.” Tony looked up at the ceiling, and Steve grinned a little. Tony was always getting exasperated when people did that to address Jarvis. _“People do know he’s not actually in the ceiling, right? That’s not where the motherboards are. That’s not even where most of the cameras and speakers are!”_

“Do you know the answer to _everything_?”

“Almost anything.” Tony looked thoughtful.

“How many miles is the world’s circumference?”

“Twenty-four thousand, nine-hundred and one-point-four-six-one miles, at the equator.”

“Wow,” Tony said softly. Then looked slightly embarrassed.

“Great, so you two have met. I’ll –” Nat looked at one of the chairs, then back at Tony. “You just tell Karen if you need me for anything. Don’t be scared to ask, I’ve got lots of time on my hands.” Tony twisted his fingers together.

“Don’t you have to work?”

Nat rested a hand on his shoulder. “For now, you’re my job.”

After a pause Tony nodded, and Nat walked out. Steve heard a quiet “Have fun” before the door closed. He leaned forward to see what Tony would do next. He stood very still for a while, in the center of the room. Then he looked up.

“Karen?” He asked quietly. “Is there any paper? And pencils?”

“I can have some brought here, if you like. Alternatively, you could try this interface. Move your hands and trace with your fingers to control the image; I can give you a short tutorial, if you want.” Steve watched with a soft smile as Tony, so full of tension a minute ago, began to show signs of animation. He sped through the holographic system his adult self had designed. Before long, he was picking up the equipment Jarvis had selected, experimenting with transferring physical shapes into digital forms. Steve closed the display with a flick of his hand, and rested his elbows on the table, finger and thumb massaging the bridge of his nose.

“Is he going to be OK, Jarvis?”

“The current situation suggests no immediate threat.”

“Good,” Steve sighed. He supposed that was the best they could hope for. “That’s good.”

***

_School-age kids should get between 9 and 12 hours each night. Bedtimes for children at this age range greatly._

_So while your child might say his friends stay up until 9 p.m., you might still be giving your child a 7:30 p.m. bedtime. But don’t feel bad if your child goes to bed earlier than his peers. Sleep is vital to your child’s health and development._

“Steve?”

“ _Jesus_ , Nat! Don’t do that!”

“Super-soldier, my ass.” Steve refocused on the tab he had open, although admittedly, he’d read the paragraph several times now without really taking it in.

“I’m trying to figure out how to do … this.” He sighed, and closed down ‘sheknows.com’ (which, based on his sensitivity training, seemed pretty sexist). “Most of it isn’t really helpful.”

“Mmm?”

“Yeah – he’s not going to school, he’s not going to any clubs … I suppose these guides aren’t really intended for people who’re only planning on keeping their child for a week.”

“Mmm.”

“Apparently, he should eat between one thousand two hundred and two thousand calories a day.”

“I don’t think we’re in danger of starving him, Steve.” He looked up at Nat. She was leaning against his desk, facing the wall opposite. He remembered her reluctance to research, earlier.

“Yeah, alright.” He pushed his chair away from the desk, and wheeled it around to face her. “You seem to be handling it pretty well, anyway.” He tried for a reassuring smile. She held his gaze briefly before bobbing her head down, but he caught a small quirk in her lips, and relaxed slightly.

“I don’t know what I’m doing. But I can’t be any more out of my depth than he is.”

“How did he seem to you?”

“Tense. There’s something …” She pursed her lips. “Well. We’ll see. I decided he didn’t need me watching over him. It would have been weird.”

“You introduced him to ‘Karen’?”

“Yeah, he took right to her. ‘Someone invented AI?’ It was pretty cute.” Steve smiled.

“We’re going to have to take some pictures.”

Nat chuckled. “Oh, of course. We can give them to Pepper for the next press-release.”

“Did you touch base with Pepper?”

“I’ve sent her an email. I’m sure whatever she’s doing is important, we don’t want her to drop everything just because her man-child is a … child-child.”

“Is Bruce going to help?”

Nat raised her eyebrows. “I don’t know, is he?”

“Well – I thought you might have …” There was a glint in Nat’s eye, and he realized she was laughing at him. “Hey –“

“He says he’ll have reached a more ‘stable point’ in his project by tomorrow.”

“Oh.”

“He’s stalling, of course. Terrified that Tony will do something ill-advised and end up with more than he bargained for. But honestly …” Nat looked thoughtful. “That kid … he’s not exactly exuberant.”

“Well, if he seems happy with his tech, there’s no big rush for them to meet. But we should introduce him to Sam, at least; he needs to get comfortable with more of us.”

“Sam’s off patrol at five. I’ll stage an introduction.”

“Yeah. Yeah …” There was a tightness in the pit of Steve’s stomach. He didn’t want to make this harder on anyone, but he wished he could meet the kid. Wished he could _do_ something – but he wasn’t magic, he wasn’t a genius, and Nat and Clint’s intelligence skills made him feel every bit the ninety-six-year-old.

“What’s wrong?”

“I’m feeling pretty useless right now. I guess that’s why I’m on … babycenter dot com.”

“Spoiling for a giant blob-monster to appear in Central Park, hm?”

“No! Of course not. Well … maybe.” He grinned up at her. She threw her thumb over her shoulder.

“I’m going to look over some stuff with Clint. Want me to kick your ass in an hour?”

“Bold words, Romanov.”

“Meet you in the gym. I’ll go easy on you, O Ancient One.” She winked, and walked out. No longer engrossed in research, Steve was struck by the silence.

God. He needed more friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's a bit later this week! Lost track of time D: Advice a quote from an actual parenting website. Also, there's really one out there called from sheknows.com, loll. Sorry if this chapter moved a bit slowly - figuring out how to split them up is a Whole Thing :'D I really like next week's chapter, I hope you'll enjoy it! See you then <3


	5. Chapter 5

Everything around him was an electric blue. It was amazing. Beautiful, even. He spun around, holding in a giggle as the images – batteries, wires, soldered metal, hypothetical shapes, all 3D, all almost-tangible – spun with him.

There was a knock on the door, and he froze, ribs throbbing as he stopped abruptly. He looked up at the ceiling, where he imagined Karen to be. He hadn’t been working hard enough, if they saw him like –

The display shut off, and he breathed out carefully as the door opened. The artificial intelligence system seemed to like him, at least.

It was Natasha again.

“Hey, Tony.” She looked around, taking in the disrupted piles of equipment, the few bits and pieces he’d put together before abandoning them, the speed at which he could arrange new concepts overwhelming him. “What have you been working on?” He didn’t know what to say. It had been stupid of him to think – when she’d said he didn’t have to make –

“Never mind, you don’t have to tell me. Sometimes it’s good to mess around, I’m pretty sure that’s how adult-you ends up with half your designs. Come on.” She beckoned forward, and left the room. After a moment’s hesitation, Tony followed. It was too early to say, he kept reminding himself. But she did _seem_ nice. And they’d just … left him to do what he wanted. For hours. Karen had even shown him a game, ‘Space Invaders’. Hitting space-ships out of the air, after she’d promised not to tell anyone, had been fun. He’d almost forgotten where he was. When he was.

They were walking down a long corridor, different to the one they’d used on the way to his room. He wondered how big the tower was. Natasha stopped at the end, and an elevator door opened. There were no buttons. Suddenly, he had an image of himself stepping in, the door closing, and being stuck there for hours. Or maybe they’d just drop him.

“You hold yourself very tightly. Do you know that?” Natasha murmured, almost like it was a secret. He made an effort to relax. A lance of pain went through his chest. She gazed at him for a moment. “OK, come on.” She stepped into the elevator, and motioned for him to do the same. Hesitantly, he obeyed. He didn’t quite have the courage to ask how –

The elevator started moving, and he looked at Natasha, wide-eyed. She smiled, and pointed toward the ceiling.

“Karen knows where we want to go.” She had said he could ask anything …

“Where are we going?”

“We’re going to get some dinner, and introduce you to another one of our teammates. His name’s Sam Wilson. He has a niece about your age.” Tony’s heart jumped.

“Will she be there?”

“No, sorry.” Natasha’s brow furrowed a little. “Just us adults.” Tony smiled to show that he wouldn’t make a fuss. He was used to it. Silence fell. When he was brave enough to look up at Natasha, she was gazing straight ahead. He didn’t want to bother her, but she’d been fine so far. Maybe he really should relax.

“Did you find out how to send me home?”

“Send you -?” Natasha looked lost for a moment. “Sorry, Tony, I thought you understood – it’s not a matter of sending you back. We need to … grow you up.”

“Oh. Sorry.” She didn’t seem annoyed at him for misspeaking. He did _get_ it – it was just very strange to think about. The idea that he wouldn’t return to the mansion, to Jarvis and Dad and Mom. That he’d basically … stop existing. Would he even see them again? He bit his lip, fighting back tears. There was a small crease between Natasha’s eyebrows. She crouched down in front of him.

“Hey. You remember Dr. Strange? I know he looks weird, but – “ She frowned for a second – “and go away if you’re listening, Stephen – he’s very talented. He’s sure he can get you back to normal, in two weeks, at most.” Tony nodded.

“If you can wait a bit longer, I know a way to grow up.” Natasha looked surprised, then laughed. Tony smiled slightly. He could probably trust Natasha.

“You’re not wrong there. But we’re on a slightly tighter schedule.” The elevator opened onto another corridor, and Tony followed Natasha into a living room. There were three dark-red couches, bean bags, glass coffee-tables, and the largest TV he had ever seen.

And a man. In red goggles, and an armored suit. Tony took a step back without even thinking about it. How stupid – he’d really started to believe –

“What the hell, Sam!”

“What?”

“You didn’t think to change? Can’t you see you’re scaring him?”

“Are you kidding me? Kids love this stuff!”

“Tony? Hey, Tony, look at me.” He turned to Natasha, very carefully, keeping his face as blank as possible. “This idiot is Sam.” The man had taken his goggles off, and was walking toward them. Tony made sure to stand still this time. He took off what looked like a huge, metal backpack.

“Hey, Tony, I’m sorry. My niece – I guess I didn’t think about how new this would all be for you.” He held out a hand for Tony to shake. “You actually made this suit for me.”

“Teammates. Like I said,” Natasha said quietly, eyes flicking between the two of them. Tony watched their faces carefully. Neither seemed angry. The man – Sam – was actually looking at him more like he was a person than Natasha or Dr. Strange had. He held out his hand further, turning it over a little, palm upward.

“Sam Wilson.” Tony took the hand.

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Wilson.”

“Mr. Wilson,” he laughed. “Oh, that’s a good one. Do you reckon I can get adult-Tony to call me Mr. Wilson?” he asked Natasha.

“Not a chance,” she said, smiling. Her arms were folded.

“Just Sam’s fine, man,” he said, undoing a zip and revealing a dark green shirt underneath the metallic top. “Sorry for the get-up. I’ve come straight from patrol.” He winked. “Keeping the city safe, you know.” Natasha snorted.

“Don’t believe everything he says.” Sam took on a look of mock-offense.

“I thought we were instilling trust here?” He met Tony’s eyes and jerked a thumb at Natasha, shaking his head. Tony smiled a little. Sam had one of those faces – you wanted to smile with him.

“Did you bring the food?” Natasha asked, dropping into a beanbag.

“’Did I bring the food,’ she says. Yes, I brought the food.” Sam picked up a black fabric bag from behind one of the couches. Tony heard a zip, and a mouth-watering smell filled the room.

“Do you like pizza, Tony? Sorry, I should have checked, but I’m always starving after patrol and this is my favorite. I got the kind adult-you likes, anyway – minus the olives, I figured that’s probably an old-fart thing.” Tony saw that Natasha was grinning. He began to feel a bit more relaxed. Sam didn’t talk like he was watching what he said; that was rare, in Tony’s experience.

“I like pizza,” he said. “Thank you very much, Sam.”

“You’re very welcome, Tony,” Sam said, taking three boxes out of the bag. “Nat, make yourself useful, go get some paper towels?” Natasha rolled her eyes, pushing herself out of the beanbag, and left the room. “We have –“ Sam pointed at the boxes, one after the other. “Cheese and tomato, for me; anchovies and olives, for Nat; and pepperoni and chicken, for you. Just say if you want to swap a slice.” Sam opened the box in the middle, and Tony’s eyes widened. The pizza was _huge_ , covered in white, creamy cheese. He heard his tummy rumble, and looked up nervously. Sam chuckled. “I guess that’s alright, then. I wondered whether you might be used to fancy-food, but I suppose pizza is pizza, whoever you are.” Natasha returned, and thunked a roll of paper towels down on the coffee table. “Awesome. Dig in!”

Tony looked at the two of them in confusion. Natasha and Sam had opened their boxes and taken out slices. They sat down on the couches, and started eating off paper towels. Tony looked down at himself. He hadn’t even changed.

“… Here?” Natasha and Sam paused, and looked at him, then around. Sam swallowed a massive bite of pizza.

“Uh … well … we don’t really eat in the dining room all that much. Sometimes in the kitchen, on the breakfast bar, but a lot of the time just in … some chill room or another.”

“We’re not really ones for ceremony,” Natasha said, with a small smile. “There’s always a chance we’ll get called out for work once we’ve set the table, so after the first few times …”

“Paper towels are the bone-china of the busy person,” Sam said, wiping his fingers. “We could get some cutlery and stuff, if that would make you more comfortable?”

“Oh, no, thank you,” Tony said, hesitantly sitting on the same couch as Sam. “This is fine.” But very different, again. The future didn’t seem so bad. This felt friendlier than rigid, high-backed chairs and a long dining table. If this was a kidnapping, it was nothing like Tony’s last one, or the ones he’d been taught to expect. He picked up a slice of his pizza, and sniffed it carefully. It _looked_ normal.

“Honestly.” Natasha rolled her eyes, tore a piece off Tony’s pizza and chewed it pointedly. “You make _one_ comment about poison.”

“You _what_?” Sam turned to look at her, eyes wide. “And _I’m_ the one being insensitive?”

“Oh, give it a rest, Wilson,” Natasha said, folding her legs underneath her on the couch.

“Did she try to poison you?” Sam said, turning to Tony. He shook his head, smiling. “Nat, I’ve told you not to poison our guests.”

The pizza was delicious. And seeing Natasha talk to her friend was reassuring, too. He realized how carefully she’d been acting around him. She was much more relaxed now, chucking scrunched-up paper towels at Sam, stealing bites of his pizza when he left to get a drink. When they were finished – Tony with a third of his pizza still to go, which Natasha took out of the room, saying she’d put it in the fridge for later – Sam pulled one of the coffee tables toward them, and placed his backpack on it.

“You want to know what this does?” he asked. Tony nodded. “Well, if you press some of these buttons, then – actually, it will seem much more impressive if I show you. Uh … Karen, could you show Tony how awesome my suit is?” A small hologram dropped down, showing Sam in the full armored suit and goggles. Suddenly, huge metal wings shot out from the backpack. Within seconds Sam was off the ground, whistling through the air and, if Tony was hearing correctly, whooping.

“Wow,” he said softly. Sam grinned.

“Bad-ass, right?”

“Can _everyone_ fly?”

Sam laughed. “Just the cool people.”

“What lies are you filling his head with?” Natasha said, returning without the pizza.

“Just letting him know how things work around here.”

“Oh? You let him know I knocked you out the sky last week with one good throw?”

“Hey, you can’t let me have _one thing_?” Sam complained. “And anyway, Tony, you and I are fixing that. We’re going to take her next time.”

“I really work on this?” Tony said, in wonder. Surely, with a building like this, they could afford someone better than him.

“Yeah! Though you’re not allowed to fly it, no matter how many times you ask.” Sam opened a small panel that Tony hadn’t noticed, and typed in a code. Several panels rose up and out of the backpack, revealing some wiring and inner machinery. “You want to see how it works?” Tony looked at Natasha. She raised her eyebrows and nodded. He nodded at Sam. “Cool! Now I understand, like, thirty percent of this, so you might have to help me with some of it …”

An hour later, Sam and Tony were sat on the floor, knee-deep in blue projections (after needing heavy intervention from Karen to reassemble the exterior of a wing, they’d decided hypothetical tinkering was safer). Tony was … having fun. There was no deadline, it really didn’t seem like they cared what he made, or even if he made _any_ progress. In some ways, it was more relaxed than home. He just wished Jarvis was here. Then Natasha returned, holding some folded plaid pajamas.

“Time for bed, Tony. Looks like you boys are having fun, but we’re trying to be responsible guardians, here.” Sam reached to the ceiling and rolled his shoulders back, letting out a groan.

“Man, I’m tired. Save our stuff, will you, J- Karen?”

“Of course, Sam.” The images disappeared. Sam pushed himself to his feet, and held out a hand to Tony.

“Come on, let’s get you to bed.” Tony accepted the hand to pull himself up, and walked with Sam and Natasha back to his room. They were talking in low voices about spider bites, for some reason. He hoped there weren’t dangerous spiders in future-New-York.

Natasha gave him the pajamas to change into. Looking in the bathroom mirror, Tony tried to imagine his face, forty years older. He didn’t understand why he’d grow a beard like that. Taking his shirt off, he saw that the purple bruising along his ribs had faded to a brownish yellow. The swelling on his fore-arm was barely noticeable, now. Thankfully, the shirt Natasha had given him was a button-down. 

When he came back into his room, Sam had something small and green in his hand. He held it out, and Tony realized it was a plushie, but a very strange one; it looked like Frankenstein’s monster in shorts.

“This is our friend Bruce. You’ll meet him tomorrow. Sometimes he worries that he’s scary, but you’ve got to remember, he’s just a softie really.” Natasha was hiding her mouth behind her hand.

“Your friend’s green?” Tony wasn’t sure what he wouldn’t believe, at this point.

“Hopefully not when you see him,” Sam said, motioning for Tony to take the toy.

 “I don’t need a toy,” Tony said uncertainly. He didn’t understand why they seemed so willing to let him waste his time with baby stuff.

“No, of course not,” Sam frowned. “But my niece has one just like this, only of our other friend, Clint. And she’s a year older than you. I suppose I could give it to her, if you don’t want it …”

“No,” Tony said, reaching out to take it. “If she has one, then I suppose that – that’s fine.”

“Great,” Sam said, smiling. “He’s called Hulk.”

“Not Bruce?”

“When he’s green, he’s usually called Hulk. But either way, he’s a softie.” The toy _was_ very soft. Tony nodded.

When he got into bed, Natasha and Sam looked slightly lost.

“Are you OK?” Tony nodded. “Right.” Sam clapped his hands. “I guess that’s goodnight from us, then. Probably see you tomorrow, Tony.”

“Remember, ask Karen if you need anything,” Natasha said quietly. She closed the door softly behind her.

 Tony turned over to look at Hulk. He had big black eyes, and soft, fluffy cheeks. Tony ran a finger over his face. Maybe, he thought, things really would be alright.

***

Steve peered at the screen in front of him, trying to make out the title of the book. It was _Hello_ , something. _Hello in_? _Hello is_?

Someone flicked a light on.

“Steve?”

“Jeez – Nat, Sam! Hey!” Steve pushed back from the desk, blinking in the sudden light.

“Want to tell us why you’re sat alone in the dark, spying on Tony?”

“I – I didn’t realize it was dark.” Side-effect of the serum. With no backaches, no eye-strain, and excellent vision, it was hard to tell how many hours he’d been sat in front of screens for. “And drop the tone, Nat, you _are_ a spy.” He turned back to the screen. “He’s reading a book. Did someone give it to him?”

“Yeah, Strange magicked it up,” Sam said, grabbing an arm-chair and pulling it over.

“He prefers you to use the word ‘conjure’,” Natasha said with a smirk. Sam blew a loud raspberry.

“I wish I could meet him,” Steve sighed.

“Missing Big T?”

“We are _not_ calling him that, Sam.” Steve shut down the display. “But the tower sure is quieter without him.”

“Well, I’ll be honest with you, he’s not much like Tony, anyway. He’s not what I was expecting.”

“You mean spoiled?” Nat said.

“Hey now, you said it, not me,” Sam grinned. “But yeah. He’s better-behaved than my niece. Went to bed like a dream.”

“Oh, your _niece_ ,” Nat said. “With her _Hawk-eye doll_?”

“I didn’t buy it for her, and if you tell Clint, I will destroy you.”

Steve chuckled. “I’m not so sure he’s not spoiled, guys. I mean, he had a butler to make him sandwiches. When Bucky and I lived in Brooklyn –"

“You ate banana peel off the floor?”

“You didn’t have any beds, so you slept on chairs pushed together?”

“You used rusty nails for toothpicks?”

“Sandwiches hadn’t been invented yet, so you just smooshed meat and cheese together in your hands?”

“Ha, ha, ha.” Steve raised his hands in defeat.

“It’s not just about that,” Nat said, squatting. “He’s so quiet, so calm. I suppose he must be scared, but he tries not to show it.” She frowned. “I put a hand on his shoulder to get a closer read. He’s _so_ tense, and got even more so when I touched him. There’s something off about the way he walks, as well. I think he might be injured.”

“Injured?” Steve’s heart rate rocketed. “Why didn’t you say anything? We need to get Bruce, or Strange –“

“I didn’t say anything, Steve, because if it was serious, he’d have told us. But I haven’t even seen him wince. He probably twinged something trying to escape, and is afraid to tell us in case we get angry.” She rested her chin in her hands. “Tomorrow morning, he’ll have slept a night here, and will hopefully believe that we have his best interests at heart. That was good pizza.” Sam did a fist-pump. “We can get Bruce to check him out then, _casually_ , say it’s to make sure the shrinking hasn’t done anything weird to his body.” Steve looked at the now-dark screen doubtfully.

“I don’t like the idea of him being in pain.” Nat smiled.

“He’s seven, Steve. If he was in pain, he’d let us know about it.” Sam put a hand up.

“I can attest to that. Maddie skinned her knee when I was babysitting once. The only time I’ve been thankful that I don’t have super-hearing.”

“OK.” Steve rubbed his eyes. “Bruce checks him out tomorrow morning, then.”

“And you,” Nat said softly, “Stop worrying so much. You have other things to focus on.”

“Oh, of course. My other job, where I’m equally out-of-my-depth and useless.”

“You get out of bed on the wrong side this morning, Cap?”

“We’re not _any_ closer, Sam,” he said, trying to keep some of the frustration from his voice. “Every lead’s been a dud.”

“That means we _are_ closer. Process of elimination.” Sam squeezed his shoulder. “We’ll find him.” Steve smiled at him sheepishly.

“Hey. Don’t Nat me.”

“Oh no, I’ve given away all my secrets,” Nat said, grinning. “Come on, let’s look at some old Hydra files for a couple of hours. That always cheers you up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another week, another chapter :D Thank you so much for your comments and kudos, it always makes my day - I'd love for you to let me know if you're enjoying this. Also, we're finally at the end of day 1! Took me long enough. See you next week to meet more characters in detail xx


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for your kudos and comments! Lets me know I'm doing something right <3

“How did it go?” Steve asked. Bruce was walking into the rec room, pulling off medical gloves.

“Do you need to wear those?” Nat asked, a small wrinkle in her brow.

“I mean, not strictly. But it reassures people that I’m a doctor.” Nat grinned.

“Tony?” Steve asked, trying to mask his impatience.

“Uh, yeah, so about Tony.” Steve felt the serum’s trigger-happy adrenaline kick in.

“Give it to me straight, Doc,” Nat said.

“You were right.” Bruce was looking at her somewhat nervously. “He is injured.” She nodded. “But, uh, this isn’t quite a scraped knee. He’s got two cracked ribs, and a bruised radius.”

“ _What?_ ” Bruce nodded at Steve unhappily.

“Yeah. Not that he was keen to show me them, it was like getting blood from a stone – I had to rope Jarvis in, well, ‘Karen’, and he was gripping a – who gave him a Hulk plushie, by the way? Not funny – like it was a lifeline.”

“How the hell did he get injuries like those? There was nothing in Tony’s bedroom that could have done that, was there?” Nat shook her head. She had gone pale.

“Well, Tasha, you said he was mildly injured yesterday, didn’t you?” Bruce was fiddling with the crumpled gloves. “I wondered whether – we’d have to call Strange, but – maybe these injuries have appeared as a result of the transformation, and are getting worse.”

“You think that’s likely?”

“I don’t know what’s likely, Steve, that’s exactly the problem. I’d have more luck with _Hogwarts: A History_ than a medical journal, getting to the bottom of this stuff.”

“No,” Nat said quietly. They looked at her. “He was holding himself the same this morning as he was yesterday. They haven’t gotten worse. I just misjudged.”

“Well, that’s …” Bruce said uncertainly. “I mean, we wouldn’t have known he was injured at all without you, so.” Nat was staring at her knitted fingers.

“How did he say he got them?” Steve asked.

“He said he fell. I assumed he was scared of the truth, I’d be freaked out if my body started randomly breaking, but … you’d have to fall pretty strangely to get those injuries.”

“Can we fix them, at least?”

“I’ve contacted Dr. Cho – unspecified patient, don’t worry – and she’s sending over some specialized equipment. I can heal him in twenty minutes if he sits still. It’s nothing life-threatening, just.” He took off his glasses. “Disconcerting.”

“I’ll ask Dr. Strange to come over and check nothing’s going wrong with the spell. Nat, maybe you could talk to Tony? Try to find out when they appeared?”

“Oh, no,” Nat said, with a sickly smile. “I think I’ve done enough babysitting for now.”

“Whatever’s going on, it’s not your fault, Tasha,” Bruce said, frowning. “You’ve done the most for the kid so far. He trusts you more than he does any of us.”

“Poor guy,” Nat said.

“I’m not suggesting that we place that duty wholly on you – I’ve cleared a section of my lab. I told Tony he could come and watch me work, or give me a hand, whenever he felt like it. I think he was still pretty shaken up from me finding his injuries, though, because he did _not_ seem keen.” Bruce sighed. “I’ll work on it. I’ll chat to Sam, maybe, he seems to be handling things well.”

“Sam’s great with kids,” Nat agreed quietly. Bruce opened his mouth, but loud music filled the room, and a display dropped down.

_Who runs the world? Girls! We run this mother –_

Nat swiped her hand right.

“Ms Potts! Good evening.” Bruce silently excused himself with a worried smile, indicating to Steve that he’d be in his lab. Steve walked around to see the display, and found himself face-to-face with Pepper on video call.

 _“Natasha?_ _I only saw your message now. Please tell me this is a joke. Oh, Steve. Hi. Oh, god, I suppose it’s not then._ ” Steve tried not to take offense. He knew how to have fun.

“I’m afraid not.”

“ _Oh, my_ god _. Natasha, why didn’t you mark your email as urgent?_

“It’s not urgent, Ms Potts, not by your standards.” Nat was wearing her maximum-reassurance smile.

“ _Do I need to come back to New York? Oh god, I’m coming back to New York. And stop trying to butter me up, Natasha, we all know you never worked for me._ ”

“That’s really not necessary, Pepper,” Steve jumped in. “We’ve got things fully under control here. Nat, Bruce and Sam are doing an excellent job of looking after Tony.” Steve didn’t miss the way Nat’s hand twitched.

“ _Not you?_ ”

“Jarvis doesn’t seem to think that would be a good idea … As far as Tony’s concerned, I’m dead. We’re working up to it.”

“ _Oh, god. Of course. So he really thinks he’s seven? And you’ve no idea why this happened? If he’s been taking stupid risks -_ ”

“We’ve no reason to  jump to that conclusion.” Steve ignored Nat’s quiet cough. “Yes: from his perspective, he’s always been a child. But he’s handling it well, and Dr. Strange says he’ll be able to return him to normal within two weeks.”

“ _That maniac?_ ”

“We’re exercising all necessary caution.”

“ _Oh, god. Well, I_ am _extremely busy here, these_ assholes _at the – not that you need to hear about that. He’s fine? Other than being small? He’s not distressed, or injured?_ ”

“Not at all, Pepper,” Nat said smoothly. Steve looked at her.

“ _Get Steve out of my line of sight before you lie to me, Natasha._ ” Nat sighed.

“We had Bruce examine him when he woke up, and he found some injuries,” Steve said, shooting Nat an apologetic glance. “He has two broken ribs, and a bruised radius. We’ve no idea how, we’re getting Strange to come in and take a look at him. But we can heal him easily.” Pepper was uncharacteristically silent. “I don’t suppose you know anything that could help set him at ease? Considering your –“ Nat stepped on his foot. “um – working relationship?” Pepper pursed her lips, looking both amused and slightly embarrassed.

“ _Tony’s pretty private, about some things. Aggressively not so about others, so you don’t always notice, but.”_ Pepper ran a hand through her hair, and Steve noticed for the first time how tired she looked. It was 11 PM in Tokyo; Steve supposed that she mustn’t have stopped all day, to only be calling them now. “ _I’d just treat him like a normal kid. With a bit more caution, perhaps. And, um, Steve. Considering that from his perspective he’s just been forcibly removed from home, and will never see his parents again. Don’t ask about Howard._ ”

That landed like an icy fist to the stomach. Was he that transparent? Worse … had Tony talked to Pepper about their previous conversations?

“Thanks for your help, Pepper,” Nat said quietly. “I’ll keep you updated. And mark the emails as urgent, this time.” Pepper smiled.

“ _Thanks, Natasha. Thank the team, as well, for keeping an eye on him. I can cover for him for a couple of weeks._ ” Nat nodded.

“Get some rest.” She ended the call.

“Do I … talk about Howard a lot?” Steve asked, into the silence that followed. Nat looked at him sympathetically.

“Oh, honey.”

“Fuck.”

“It’s OK. It’s hard for you. We know that.”

“ _Fuck_. I – he never told me. I –“

“He kind of did, Steve. Short of saying “Shut up about my father, you ancient idiot,” I don’t think he could have made it much clearer.”

“Maybe … I didn’t want to hear what he was saying. But if he was complaining to Pepper …”

“I’m sure he’s complained about all of us to Pepper,” Nat reassured. “I know I bitch about all of you guys to Clint.”

“You’re a great friend, Nat.” She smirked. “But hang on, Tony and Pepper broke up? You couldn’t have told me that, before hanging me out to dry?” Nat shrugged.

“I just found out. It was obvious, looking at her.”

“Obvious,” Steve sighed. “Maybe I need my eyes tested.”

“She’s not wearing the necklace he gave her, which she usually does when she’s away. She looks tired – it takes a lot for Pepper to show that, that means personal stress, outside of work. When I was undercover as her assistant, she had a filter on her emails prioritizing ones which mentioned Tony. And if they were still together, I think she would have been calling us from the plane.”

“Huh. And Tony never mentioned it?”

“Like Pepper said,” Nat said, with a soft smile. “He’s pretty private, about _some_ things. Not his genitals. But some things.”

“Oh, god. I hope Jarvis is filtering Tony’s search results.”

“Of course, Captain,” came Jarvis’s voice over the speakers. “He has not yet researched himself, however.”

“No? That doesn’t sound like Tony.”

“Not our Tony,” Nat said. “I think we need to start getting used to that.”

***

Steve went into his private office, this time, and had Jarvis set a proximity alert. He didn’t need Nat worrying over him.

He’d tried to be useful this afternoon, going out to buy some toys – he still didn’t trust online orders. Of course, none of them were familiar from his own childhood, so he’d gone mostly by ‘7+’ indicators; he assumed a genius, however old, wouldn’t appreciate being babied. Ridiculously, he’d felt a moment of anticipation, looking forward to making the kid smile – before remembering that that wasn’t an option.

So he’d given them to Bruce, hoping it might ease his relationship with Tony a little. He tried to resist jealousy as the display showed Tony, hesitant to accept the gifts at first, planning out Meccano structures with the aid of Jarvis’s projections. Bruce wheeled in Dr. Cho’s equipment, and began explaining it to him. It was something Steve found simultaneously exasperating and charming about Bruce; he never seemed aware that someone’s mental abilities might not match his own.

Steve just felt like he should be _doing_ more. For one thing, he was the only member of the team who had experience with waking up decades in the future – although, somewhat embarrassingly, seven-year-old Tony seemed to have a better handle on that than he did.

“The minds of children are significantly more flexible, Captain. The time-jump Tony has experienced is also shorter, and he has always been surrounded by technological breakthroughs.” Steve jumped a little, realizing he’d been muttering aloud.

“Yeah … thanks, Jarvis.” It could be a potential talking-point for them, at least. Steve kept cringing at the thought of what he might have said without Pepper’s advice. He could count the number of people he knew with common acquaintances from 1945 on one hand; it was hard _not_ to talk about Howard, with someone who might be able to contribute anecdotes, rather than just getting that glazed expression. It was pretty awful, having all your stories turned into old-man stories at the age of twenty-seven.

He’d never considered that what was cathartic for him might be upsetting for Tony. Or rather, if he had, he’d shied away from that thought before it could take root.

He winced as Bruce helped Tony remove his shirt, and he saw the bruising along his ribs. He’d had the chance to know Howard’s son as Howard never would, and he’d been a tactless jerk. And now here he was, responsible for his injured child, and unable to help.

“Sorry, Howard,” he murmured. Tony was propped upright, breathing deeply under Bruce’s instruction, continuing to shape plans with one hand as Dr. Cho’s equipment worked on his injuries.

“How many people are there on the team?” Tony asked, suddenly.

“How many?” Bruce was typing into the depressingly obscure contraption that was apparently fixing Tony’s arm. “Uh, well, that’s hard to say. It changes quite a lot, depending on who’s around. But, uh.” Steve found himself grinning; the frown on Tony’s face, even if he was looking firmly at his plans, was the exact look of frustration adult-him got whenever people refused him straight answers. Bruce clearly noticed it too. “Let’s just say there’s a core team of seven. But we all have other jobs, so we’re often not around at the same time. And we have other friends who help us out.” Steve saw Tony mouth the word ‘friends’. There was silence for a bit, other than the whirring of machinery.

“And what do – um – we – do?” Bruce looked puzzled.

“You haven’t asked Karen?” Tony turned red.

“Sorry, Dr. Banner,” he said.

“No, that’s not what I – and call me Bruce. I’m glad that you’re asking questions. I’m a scientist, I love questions. I’m just surprised that you’d ask me, rather than the state-of-the-art intelligence system.” Tony was silent. “Well – we fight bad guys, I suppose. I know it sounds cliché, but. If someone is trying to hurt a lot of people, and it looks like they might pull it off, we get called in to … uh … save the day.” Tony was quiet for a bit longer.

“With weapons?” Bruce took his glasses off.

“Well – yes, sometimes. Sometimes they’re necessary. We end up fighting very powerful people – and if there’s one person, who won’t stop until a lot of people are …”

“Dead,” Tony supplied.

“Well, yes – then sometimes we have to make that call. But we don’t attack first. We only fight to protect what we care about.” Tony had stopped fiddling with his plans.

“And do I make those weapons?”

“Uh … some specialized ones, yes. You help with all of our equipment. Like – I know Sam showed you his wings, right? And you’ve seen your suit. You also make armor to keep us all safe during battle, and Cap’s-“ Bruce froze, and Steve’s heart jumped into his throat. But Tony didn’t seem to notice. He had let his arm fall flat, and was staring at the ceiling. Bruce coughed. “Yes, so. You make a lot of things.” He waited for further questions, but none were forthcoming. Bruce turned over his glasses in his hands with increasing frequency, before eventually going to fiddle with the machine working on Tony’s ribs.

A box appeared on Steve’s screen: “Message from Clint Barton.” He tapped it.

_Hey Cap,_

_Hope the squirt’s not giving you too much trouble. Think I’ve got a lead on what’s making him so squirt-y. This is preliminary stuff, but just to keep you updated – this is from our fight with the fascist dinos last Tuesday._

A small clip was attached, of shaky civilian footage. Steve pressed play. It showed the woman who had been marshaling the bizarre creatures.

She had had long, matted brown hair, and a white cloak that had rippled in the wind as she floated above them. Steve assumed that keeping it spotless was one of her special powers. She was also dead. Tony had blasted her off-balance when she had aimed her staff at Steve, knocking her out of the air; she hadn’t survived the fall. They weren’t certain what her staff did, but whipping up Nazi dinosaurs, of all things, wasn’t a great precedent to set. Nasty stuff.

The clip showed her seconds after Iron Man’s beam had knocked her to the floor – but she hadn’t been instantly killed, as they’d thought. She threw out a curled hand to where Iron Man was flying away, her lips seeming to snarl something. A small white glow began to twist in her hand. The clip ended, and Steve hit the desk in frustration.

That had been over a week ago. Did this mean she was still alive now? He typed out a quick reply to Clint.

_Thanks for the heads up, keep me updated._

If there was someone out there trying to hurt Tony … well, Steve was the child, to be worried about making friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all, again, for reading! If you fancy some more material, I've written a [frostiron piece](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16814017) (E) - Tony is having a bad day, until he gets a pleasant surprise in the form of a minor deity with a few tricks up his sleeve. Bit of a tone jump from this, but I'm pretty happy with it!
> 
> You can [subscribe to me on Ao3](https://archiveofourown.org/users/coveredsnow/) to be notified when I post a new chapter or work, and follow me at [coveredsnow](http://coveredsnow.tumblr.com/) on tumblr for news about other fics, updates, and to hmu with any questions :D


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! Thank you so much for your lovely comments. Sorry to any of you who are being affected by the Tumblr purge - hopefully this provides some distraction ...

Tony was playing a game.

Every now and again he’d look at the door, catching the ‘moon ball’ as it rebounded and hiding it behind himself. It was unsettling, being in a new building. He didn’t know the sounds for when someone was thirty, twenty, ten steps away from his room. He’d count out twenty seconds carefully, before accepting that he hadn’t really heard anything. Then he’d return to the game.

He’d made a sort of hoop, and attached it to a swinging arm that occasionally made jerky movements. He set the hoop up at one end of the room, and stood at the other. Then he tried to shoot the ball through the hoop, catching it when it bounced off the wall. If it went through the hoop, he got a point; if it didn’t, the arm got a point. First to ten won. When he’d celebrated his first victory, Karen had played applause over the speakers.

It was the most pointless thing he’d made in over a year. Every now and again he’d think about what Dad would say, and his heart would go jittery.

But Dad wasn’t here. He was really starting to believe that.

Bruce had found his injuries earlier, and he’d nearly been sick from fright – although, luckily, they’d believed he’d gotten them from a fall. But Bruce had healed him – future-tech was _amazing_ – and still, no-one had showed up. No-one had stopped him.

So he was trying out playing with the ball.

He’d finished _Hello? Is Anybody There?_ , but he didn’t want to trouble anyone for a new book – at least messing around with the equipment they’d provided was _somewhat_ work-related. And the toys Bruce had got him were pretty great. Meccano placed interesting limitations on his designs. And marbles were just … nice, for some reason. Tony smiled. It had been months since someone had given him something just because it might be fun.

He thought he heard a noise, and caught the moon ball again. _One … two … three …_

“Would you like me to set a perimeter alert for your room, Tony?” Tony looked up. As far as he could tell, Karen wasn’t reporting back to the others. And she didn’t try to dumb things down for him, which he was really beginning to appreciate.

“Could you please? When someone is about thirty seconds away?” Tony was going to put Karen on his sort-of-trust list. She’d been nothing but nice so far, but he had to remember that she could watch his every move. And he bet it was easy for an artificial intelligence to lie.

“Done. Remember, Tony, you can ask me anything.” Tony bit his lip. Yes … he _knew_ that. He didn’t really want to, though.

Bruce had asked him earlier why he hadn’t questioned Karen about the team, about his job. The truth was, he was scared of what he might find. He was pretty certain by now that this wasn’t a cross-time kidnapping. But no-one had told him _why_ he had been turned into a child, when he should have been an adult. Bad things didn’t just happen for no reason. When bad things happened, it was because he’d been useless, or stupid, or messed something up.

Tony threw the ball again, blinking back tears. So what if he’d been turned into a child as a punishment? _Thunk_. Bruce had said he’d made weapons. Like he’d told himself he wouldn’t. _Thunk_. What if he’d hurt good people? What if he wasn’t even on the team? _Thunk_. What if he was a bad guy – _thunk_ – and they were lying to him to try and make him good? _Thunk_. They had to be lying – _thunk –_ about being – _thunk_ – his friends –

_SMASH_

Tony froze. The ball had crashed straight into his smoothie glass. Shards littered the table top and the carpet around it. Oh, no. Oh, no. Oh, no.

“Tony?” He heard Karen’s voice like it was coming through a long tunnel. “Tony, there’s no need to worry, we have plenty of glasses.” He quickly began to pick up shards of glass, holding them carefully in his hands. “Tony, stop picking up the glass. That’s dangerous.” His hands moved faster – if there was less of a mess, perhaps they’d be less cross. “Tony, STOP.” Tony froze, glass tinkling from his hands, a line of red starting to bead across his thumb. He took deep, heaving breaths that quickly turned into sobs.

“Don’t tell anyone – don’t tell anyone –“

“Don’t tell anyone what?” Tony looked up in shock. Karen had said that she’d set an alert – but Dr. Strange was somehow sitting in one of his chairs. “Oh, dear, this is quite the mess.” Tony went to frantically wipe his eyes, but Dr. Strange made a motion, and suddenly his hands wouldn’t move. “Now, calm down,” he said quietly. “We can’t have you getting glass in your eye.” An orange glow encircled Dr. Strange’s wrist, and the shards that were scattered everywhere, even the specks on Tony’s hands, began to swirl together. Within seconds, a glass was on the table – exactly as it had been moments before. Tony could move again. “So. What’s all this fuss about?” Tony swallowed against a raw throat, heart beating audibly in his chest. He’d only been healed a couple of hours ago, and now …

“I broke the glass,” he said. Clearly, like he’d been taught. No one liked a mumbler.

“Not from where I’m standing.” Tony blinked. “Your friends called me here to check that the spell wasn’t having any adverse effects. Apart from your age, obviously. No offense.” Was … he just going to brush past it? It couldn’t be that easy. “Could you give me your hand, please?” Nausea settled in Tony’s stomach. But this was reassuring, in some ways. To know that everywhere operated by the same rules. Dr. Strange took his hand … and stroked the thumb gently. The bleeding stopped. “Was that from the glass?” he asked. Tony nodded, speechless. “Hm. Well, as far as I can tell, there’s nothing about the spell that could be causing you injury.” Dr. Strange gave him a long, piercing look, and Tony felt his hands go clammy.

 “Oh – did you finish the book?” Tony nodded. “Well, here, have another one. Highly inaccurate, but pretty unavoidable, these days.” In the hand that had just been healed, there was suddenly a slim novel.

“Th – thank you,” he stammered. Was he being rewarded? For breaking something? As he watched, Dr. Strange’s cloak began to move. It reached up toward him, and began brushing his face – wiping, he realized with a blush, his tears away. Dr. Strange rolled his eyes.

“Oh, it does that. Doesn’t always appreciate that some people might want to be _left alone_.” He stressed the last two words, and the cloak fell back to his side. “Well – I’ve got everything I need for my research. Thank you, Master Stark, you’ve been quite helpful.”

“Are you –“ Tony stammered. “Are you going to tell the others?”

“About the spell? Certainly.” Dr. Strange raised an eyebrow. “Apart from that, I don’t know what there would be to tell.” And suddenly – Tony was watching this time, so he could be sure – he vanished into thin air.

Tony sat back on his heels, rubbing the last of the moisture from his face. With shaky hands, he put the moon ball at the back of a draw. More than ever, he felt like he should be doing something _useful_ – but he remembered how good Dr. Strange’s last book had been. Tentatively, he opened the cover.

 _Chapter 1: The Boy who Lived_.

***

“Karen?”

“Yes, Tony?”

“Could you show me the way to Bruce’s lab?”

“Of course.” One of the intangible blue screens he had become used to appeared, with a tear symbol across the top. He mimed a ripping motion, and found an insubstantial map of the tower in his hands; or rather, a map of his route, as many areas were blank. He was a small, golden dot, in the section marked _‘Tony’s room’_.

“Will Bruce definitely not mind?”

“I am certain that he will not. He will be happy to see you.” Tony looked down at the map, still hesitating. Bruce had given him toys yesterday, had healed him, had seemed the least threatening of anyone he’d met so far – he was beginning to wonder if Sam had been making some kind of joke with the Hulk plushie (currently stashed under his pillow). But his dad had always been very clear that you did _not_ disturb someone when they were working. “Would you like me to message Bruce and ask whether you would be welcome?”

“No! No, that’s fine.” Tony began to follow the route marked out. He would try to peek in and see whether Bruce looked busy. If he did, he’d just go back to his room.

“You’re allowed to be here, Tony.” He realized that he’d been tiptoeing out of habit. Well, maybe he was allowed to be here, but that didn’t mean he wanted people to _know_ he was there. Soon he was several floors down, and outside the room marked on the map as _‘Bruce’s lab’_. He swished his hand as he’d learned to do, and the map disappeared. There was a large window in the door; Tony peered through it. Bruce was hunched over some notes, alternating between scribbling on paper and consulting the displays in front of him. Definitely busy.

He was just about to turn away when Bruce looked up. His heart stopped. But a warm smile spread across Bruce’s face, and he beckoned him in. Tony opened the door hesitantly.

“If you’re working I can leave –“

“Oh, it’s nothing important. Just a hobby, really.” Tony looked at the desks littered with paper and lab equipment, projected timetables with flashing boxes hovering over several of them. Bruce laughed, and rubbed the back of his neck. “I get a bit carried away.” Tony smiled. He could understand that. Bruce motioned him to a clear section, furthest away from all the interesting things. “I cleared a, uh, safe spot for you. I’m sure you know how to handle yourself, but we’re very anxious that you don’t become injured.” Tony studied his face carefully. He couldn’t sense any ulterior motive, any hint of a lie. He sat on a stool in front of the table. Bruce smiled at him nervously. “If there’s anything you want to work on, or mess about with, feel free.” Tony nodded. He tapped a screen near him, and pulled up the main design he’d been working on with Karen. He could feel Bruce watching him, but after a minute or two he returned to his notes.

Tony had to be careful how he managed this. The wrong questions at the wrong time could have bad consequences. He waited until Bruce had put his pen down, and was leaning back.

“May I ask you a question?”

“Of course! Fire away.” Bruce looked slightly surprised, as he always seemed to when Tony spoke to him.

“When Natasha was showing me what I did for a job, I read that I was the founder of the Maria Stark Foundation.”

“Uh …” Bruce took off his glasses. “Yeah. Yeah, you are. It’s a charity. You do a lot of good work.”

“But shouldn’t my mom have founded that? If it has her name?”

“Ah … well.” Bruce was turning his glasses over in his hands. “I suppose you wanted to, um. Name it after her – as a nice thing to do. A gesture of respect.” Tony was quiet, weighing up whether or not he wanted to know the answer to his next question. This was why he was asking Bruce, rather than an all-knowing computer.

“Is she dead?” Bruce’s gaze, which had been flitting around the room, finally landed on Tony. He saw him steel himself.

“Yes. I’m very sorry, Tony. Remember, we’re years in the future. But I’m afraid she is.” Tony nodded, staring at the table without really seeing it.

“And my dad?”

“Yes.” Tony pressed his tongue to the roof of his mouth. He wasn’t going to ruin everything by crying. Bruce made an aborted movement, then hopped awkwardly off his stool. He walked over to Tony, who closed his eyes – there was really nowhere to run to in this building, with an all-seeing computer and people who could apparently appear at will, so he might as well take whatever was coming. He felt an arm around his back, and then Bruce enveloped him in a warm hug. Tony opened his eyes in surprise. It was a good hug, the kind that Jarvis gave. Jarvis … if Mom and Dad were dead, then … He began to cry quietly. Bruce held him tighter, and stroked a hand over his head. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he murmured. “It’s going to be alright. I promise. It’s going to be alright.”

“I want Jarvis,” he sobbed.

“I … I’m sorry, Tony. I’m sorry.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry ... or you're welcome, depending on how you feel about Tony having a rough time :') If you need a bit of comforting / de-stressing, that's exactly what my new piece [Out of Harm's Way](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16814017) was written for. 
> 
> Your kudos and comments mean the world! There'll be a bit more action next week - see you then :D.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for letting me know what you think so far! _Provide Me_ reached 400 subscribers this week :O I hope you all enjoy this chapter.

_Avengers, assemble._

Steve slotted his shield onto his back, heart thumping. Bruce ran up the ramp into the jet, a green vein popping in his neck, chucking his sweater to the side.

“ _Any time, fellas,”_ came Nat’s voice over the com system.

_Avengers, assemble._

“On our way,” Clint said, dropping into the pilot seat.

 _“Race you,”_  Steve heard from his earpiece, as a shot of black and red flashed overhead.

“Eat my dust, Falcon.” The jet took off, and Steve grabbed a handle to steady himself, while Bruce growled in warning. “That’s from _Cars_ , Cap. 2006.”

“Hilarious. Who’s looking after Tony?”

“He’s fine, he’s with Jarvis, I showed him to Safe Room 3,” Bruce said, placing a hand on his diaphragm and breathing out slowly. Steve felt a twinge of annoyance – although that was _good_ , of course. He’d _asked_ Bruce to spend more time with the kid.

 _“If this thing gets as far as the tower, we’ve gone seriously wrong,”_  Nat said.

“Sure you need our help, Widow?” Clint asked, pushing the jet faster as Sam appeared outside the window and cheerfully flipped them off.

_“This thing isn’t intelligent, and I wouldn’t call this attack coordinated. It just happens to be about twenty times the size of me.”_

“Stand clear,” Clint whooped, aiming the jet’s guns as they pulled over Central Park.

“I still say we could have run,” Steve said, preparing to jump.

“Alright, super-thighs, some of us still get stitches,” Clint said. “Ugh, that thing is _ugly_. Like Kirby on a bender. Video game character, 1992.” Bruce sprinted past Steve, body rippling the second he left the jet. The air filled with a roar as Steve jumped after him, hurtling toward the ground.

“Cut it out, Hawkeye.”

“ _It’s not pretty,”_ Nat said. _“How would you describe it, Cap?”_  Steve groaned as he stood up and got a good look at their opponent.

“Focus on the mission, Widow.”

 _“That’s precisely what I am focusing on.”_ Bright blue electricity crackled through a part of the creature’s flesh, and Steve saw Nat dancing away from one of its … um … folds?

“It looks like …” Steve threw his shield at what seemed to be an eye. He saw Sam dragging a man and child through the air, seconds before they would have been subsumed into the gelatinous mass. “One of those deep-sea creatures. A blobfish.”

 _“A giant blob-monster, did you say?”_ A low, groaning howl filled the air as Steve’s shield found its target. He caught it, wincing at the viscous goo glazing one side. _“In Central Park?”_

“Point taken.” There was another blue crackle of electricity, and the flesh Nat had been targeting began to blacken.

 _“Am I missing something?”_ Clint said, as shots fired from the jet above. Hulk’s roar thundered in Steve’s ears. He ran around to the other side and saw him elbow deep in translucent pink flesh, sinking further and further in.

_“Someone’s been reading Cap’s Christmas list.”_

“Hawkeye, stop firing from the jet for a minute and do some precision work. Hulk’s arm’s stuck in the blob-monster.”

_“Got it. Is that its official name now? I can’t wait for the debrief.”_

“Widow, can you focus your bites around Hulk? Char the flesh around his arm, hopefully he’ll stop sinking.”

 _“Got it, Cap. And a happy New Year.”_  Steve threw his shield at the creature’s nose-blob; there was another pained howl, and purple goo started leaking out of the front.

 _“You couldn’t have asked Santa for something more sanitary?”_   Sam said. He was flying around shooting wide metal plates into the blob-monster where people had been sucked in, like a giant pair of tweezers. The victims would eventually fall out, accompanied by a sizable splurge of purple goo.

“Are the civilians OK?”

_“A few suffering from oxygen deprivation, and we’re not sure what’s in this fluid – I’m calling in S.H.I.E.L.D. medical.”_

“Thanks, Falcon.” Another bone-shuddering roar. “Was that a Hulk’s-free roar or a Hulk’s-still-stuck roar?”

 _“That was a Hulk’s-free roar,”_ Nat said, “ _but you’ll have to dissuade him from his current plan pretty quickly if he’s going to remain that way.”_ Steve turned from where he’d been watching civilians stagger away to see Hulk lifting up the creature’s nose.

“What is he doing?”

_“I quote – “Hulk inside.””_

_“Oh, crap,”_ Sam said, as Hulk stretched open the massive mouth he’d revealed, and dove in. An arrow shot after him, fastening a rope around his foot.

“Hawkeye! Pull him out!”

 _“Wait!_ ” Nat said, _“He might be onto something – I’m betting there’s a center. There’s got to be_ something _in there he can smash.”_

 _“Don’t tell him I said this, but I’m not sure that’s true,”_ Sam said, pulling two more people out of the creature. Then he yelled. _“Woah, I can see something green in there – he’s right in the middle!”_ There was a high-pitched, crackling moan – and suddenly it wasn’t just Steve’s shield covered in goo.

 _“Eugh, it’s on the jet!”_ Clint cried. Sure enough, the underside of the craft was splattered with purple. In the middle of the blast radius was Hulk, a cracked, red sphere in his hand, and a massive grin on his face. He plucked the rope off his foot.

“Hulk smash.”

“Well done, Hulk.” Steve stepped through the foot-deep purple goo, helping up the few civilians, gasping for air, that had remained in the creature when it exploded. “Widow?”

 _“You’re closest, you can do the lullaby,”_ Nat said, picking up expended bites from the ground. Tony had started collecting recoverable ones a couple of months ago to identify weaknesses. Miraculously, the goo seemed to only have reached her boots.

 _“How are you so clean?”_ Clint asked, firing an arrow and riding the wire it trailed up to the jet.

 _“I trust the big guy_ ,” Nat said. _“Learn when it’s time to duck behind a tree.”_ Clint lowered the jet beside her, and she jumped on.

“Oh, come on. This is …” Steve winced, drawing his hand back from Hulk, stretching thick strings of purple goop between his fingers. Hulk was _covered_ in the stuff. “Hey, big guy.” He stretched out his palm again, hovering it carefully above Hulk’s fingers. “Sun’s getting real low.” Within seconds, Bruce was spluttering and shivering in front of him, in loose trousers and nothing else. Steve slung him over his shoulders and jogged to the jet. “Emergency sanitation, he’s been exposed more than any of us.” Nat took over as Bruce slipped in and out of consciousness, exhausted as always.

“Falcon and I can handle the boring stuff,” Steve said. Nat gave him a knowing smile as she toweled Bruce off. Answering questions, directing medical aid, reassuring civilians, helping with clean-up … maybe it wasn’t superhero stuff. Maybe it wasn’t stuff that only he could do. But it was _something_ he could do.

“I’ll save the best paperwork for you,” she said. The hatch to the jet closed, and Steve watched as it shot toward Avengers Tower. He turned to the park, covered in blob-monster gunk, and got stuck in.

***

Tony was excited to be going back to Bruce’s lab.

He found himself grinning as he rode the elevator down, hopping from foot to foot. He’d interrupted Bruce’s work, asked irritating questions, and cried – and Bruce still hadn’t been angry. He was one of the calmest adults Tony had ever met. Today, he was going to work up the courage to ask about some of his experiments. He hadn’t had the time yesterday, before he’d been rushed to the safe room.

Last night had been difficult. Knowing that Jarvis was dead had made Tony miss him a lot more. He’d cuddled his Hulk toy like a baby, and eventually asked Karen to read him the next chapter of _Harry Potter_. But today, rather than dwell on the things the future didn’t have, Tony would concentrate on those it did. Like science that … even Dad probably didn’t know about. He giggled nervously, half-expecting the elevator door to open on him wearing a thunderous expression. But it was just another corridor.

He found the lab door open. Peering around the side, he saw that Bruce was with Natasha. They were facing away from him, watching a display showing …

Tony took an involuntary step back. On the display was a monster. Roaring, and jumping through the sky, and punching a pink, jello-like mass. A huge, green, thing – oh …

“You see, that’s definite intelligence,” Natasha was saying, pointing as Hulk raised part of the pink blob. “If we saw this on a mission one, two years ago, we’d be gobsmacked.” Bruce looked very tired; he was pale, and there were dark circles under his eyes. He shook his head.

“Lifting doesn’t require advanced intelligence, Tasha. He was pissed off, and punching the outside wasn’t working, so he decided to punch the inside instead. His motivating force is still pretty limited to ‘Hulk’ and ‘Smash.’”

“I don’t see why you’re so reluctant to admit that it’s getting better,” Natasha said, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Hulk is less a loose cannon, more a coordinated part of our team. You need to –“ She stopped and turned to look at Tony, who had begun to retreat, realizing this was a private conversation. Bruce turned even paler, and dismissed the screen with a flick of his hand.

“Hey, Tony,” Natasha said softly. She’d been spending less time with him over the past couple of days; Tony assumed that she’d been given more important work. She’d seem distracted when she came to check on him, and left quickly once she’d brought him to meals with Sam. “Don’t run. What you just saw …” She went quiet, looking at Bruce, who was staring at the floor.

“Are you OK?” Bruce blinked.

“Am – am _I_ OK? Yeah, I’m fine. How about you, kiddo?”

“I’m good. You look …” Bruce had been kind to him. Bruce was calm. Bruce was safe. “… sad.”

“Sad?” A small smile appeared. “I’m not sad.”

“Does it hurt you? Being Hulk?”

“I –“ Bruce looked slightly baffled. “It, uh – it tires me out. It’s – well, he burns a lot of energy.”

“Oh.” Tony twisted his fingers. He’d messed up here, somehow – he’d come in at the wrong time, and now Bruce was unhappy. “When I haven’t eaten in a while, Jarvis gives me special bars with lots of protein and energy. Do you have things like those?” Bruce’s smile grew.

“Well, you can buy them in stores … but actually, I bet we could make some better ones. That’s a good idea.”

“Did you beat the monster?”

“Did I beat the –“ Bruce looked at Natasha, eyes wide, but she had turned back to the display, smiling.

“The pink thing.”

“Um, I. I guess I did.” Tony walked up to Bruce, and stared at the bare skin on his hands.

“You don’t look green at all.”

“No, it’s a, uh. A temporary thing. You’re not – scared of me?” Tony looked up to see if this was a trap. But it was Bruce that looked frightened, if anything. Tony shook his head.

“Sam said that the Hulk is just a softie, really.” Bruce made a small, choked sound. “You didn’t hurt Natasha, did you? Or Sam?”

“Of course not,” Natasha said softly. “He knows us.”

“That doesn’t guarantee –” Bruce started.

“The kid is smarter than you,” Natasha said, smirking. Tony tensed. But Bruce just shook his head and smiled.

“Your way for now, then,” he said.

“My way for always.” Natasha winked, then perched on a stool, in front of a desk with interesting looking liquids on it.

“Oh, woah, Tony, you’re way too close to dangerous stuff – could you go to your table, please?” Bruce sounded panicked, but never touched Tony, ushering him gently towards the same area as yesterday. Tony smiled. He could never be scared of Bruce.

Over the next couple of hours, Bruce answered questions about the Hulk. He also started working on super-energy-bars, explaining what he was doing along the way. He would ask Tony if he had any ideas to improve them. Like chocolate chips. Most of the time Natasha was silent in the corner, working on a small screen called a ‘tablet,’ but occasionally she chipped in. Bruce seemed to find her very funny. Eventually she came around to Tony’s table, and sat across from him.

“So, to be clear,” she said, looking at her nails. “You’re not scared of the giant, green, smashy thing – at all.”

“Tasha.” Bruce looked up from his desk. Tony thought about what the scariest thing in his life looked like, and smiled.

“No. He hasn’t smashed me.” Bruce sighed, and while Natasha smiled at Tony, there was something sad about the corners of her eyes.

“That’s exactly my point, Tasha,” Bruce murmured. “You can’t take a child who’s only been here for four days, and ask him what he thinks of the Hulk.”

“You're such a hypocrite, Banner. Who was telling me just last night that I should ‘trust myself more?’”

“You don’t have a monster waiting to jump out of you!”

“Now who’s being naïve.”

“It’s not about a monster,” Tony said. He’d messed up, _again_. He didn’t want to make Bruce sad. “It’s about you. I trust you. You’ve been … nice. You make me feel safe here. Both of you.” He murmured the last part, unsure of how Natasha would respond. “I wouldn’t be scared of you.” There was a pause. Then a harsh, scraping noise, as Natasha pushed her stool back.

“I need to talk to Ste- Sam.” Tony watched her leave with wide eyes.

“That wasn’t your fault.” Bruce’s voice was hoarse. “That wasn’t your fault, Tony.” Tony said nothing, and started fiddling with his designs again. Saying nothing was safer.

***

“Steve?”

“Hey.” Steve took off the big, cushy headphones. Tony laughed at him for wearing them, but he hated having things stuck in his ears – he wasn’t going to endure it outside of work.

“What’re you doing?” Nat sat down on the back of a chair, executing some unholy balancing act. As if chairs weren’t _made_ with sitting in mind.

“I’m – uh.” He gestured towards the headphones. “‘The British Invasion’, 1960s. Not as dangerous as it sounds.”

“Find anything you like?”

He smiled. “It’s … different. I’m trying to get used to it. The last song was about a submarine. What’s up?”

“I can’t have a chat with my favorite fossil when I feel like it?”

“Not while hiding that something’s on your mind.”

“No?” Nat raised an eyebrow. “Clearly I need to put some distance between us. You’re getting too good.”

“What’s wrong, Nat?” She took on a business-like look, the one she generally mustered as a half-assed cover for actual emotions.

“I’m wasting my time here. I need to work intelligence with Clint full-time.”

“Wasting your time? I thought that Tony liked you.” She shook her head impatiently.

“That’s not the matter at hand. He’s comfortable with Sam and Bruce, he’s got Jarvis as a babysitter – the concern isn’t making sure he’s happy, it’s making sure we can get him back to normal. Clint’s swamped, there’s a reason you haven’t seen him for the past couple of days. Intelligence is what I’m good at. Let me help him.” Steve fiddled with the wires of his headphones.

“Seems to me you’ve been pretty good at this, too.” Nat’s face was impassive. Her argument was sound, and she knew it – it was hopeless getting anything out of her that she’d decided not to tell you. He sighed.

“Fine. Let me know if there’s anything else the two of you need. But I feel like Tony should have interactions with more than two people.”

“I agree.” Nat smiled. “So I’ve been thinking – we should introduce you.”

“Me?” Steve’s heart rate went up a notch. “But – Jarvis –“

“That was days ago, when Tony still thought he was the victim of a kidnapping. Like you say, he has adults he can … adults he feels comfortable with, now. And it’s silly for you to keep checking which rooms to enter. Tony’s handled the time jump well – Bruce even told him his parents were dead yesterday, and he still seems stable. He can manage one supersoldier. You’re not quite that impressive.” She winked.

“… Right. I guess that makes sense. When should we – uh? When should we –“

“Are you _checking your hair_?”

“Shut up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Begins week-long drum roll* ;)
> 
> Kudos and comments are the best Christmas present you could give me <3
> 
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	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who comments or leaves kudos, your support means a lot <3

“How’re you feeling?”

“Ridiculous,” Steve muttered. Sam chuckled. “I feel like I’m going on a first date.”

“Have you ever _been_ on a first date?” Steve rolled his eyes.

“He’s seven. Why am I nervous?”

“You tell me. Scared he might withdraw our funding if you take his Hulk plushie away?” Steve ran a hand through his hair for the umpteenth time.

“Can I be pathetic for a minute?”

“What do you mean, ‘for a minute’?”

“I think I’m worried he won’t like me. Kids always like me – and this is Howard’s son. This is _Tony_. All this sneaking around has got me feeling like some kind of pariah.”

“Steve, like you say. The kids love you. It’s _crazy_ how much they love you. I don’t see it, you’re a vet who runs around in tights, and you used to be in a stage-show with dozens of half-naked women – you should be corny as hell. And they’re too young to be checking out those buns.”

“They weren’t _half-naked_ , they were – it was normal at the time.”

“Might want to tell your face that, Cap. You’re putting the red in red, white and blue.” Steve heard voices through the rec room door. He suddenly didn’t know what to do with his hands.

“… member of the team.”

“What’s their name?” Steve’s heart jumped.

“His name’s Steve. This will take a bit of explaining – you might actually recognize him.” The door opened, and Nat came in, followed closely by Tony. His eyes lit up as they landed on Sam. Then he saw Steve, and froze.

“Hi, Tony.” Steve put on his best public-engagement smile. “My name’s Steve Rogers. Nice to meet you.” Tony’s hand shot out, and grabbed Nat’s. Steve saw a muscle jump in her cheek. “I guess I’ve got some explaining to do.”

“Is my dad here?” Tony whispered. Then he coughed, and turned red. Uh … well, now Steve had no idea what to say.

“He’s – he’s not. Sorry, Tony. Just me. Did your dad … tell you about me?” He met Nat’s eyes, knowing she’d read the panic in his. She crouched down.

“I know this must seem very strange. But your dad goes looking for Steve sometimes, doesn’t he?” Tony’s eyes widened, and he nodded. “Well, it took a long time. But eventually, you found him. And he was alive!”

“I was trapped in ice,” Steve jumped in, “unconscious for seventy years. You could say that’s something we have in common. Both in the wrong time.” He tried for a laugh, but knew that it wasn’t his best. Tony suddenly pulled his hand from Nat’s like it was on fire, and walked towards Steve. He proffered his hand.

“It’s an honor to meet you, Captain Rogers.” Steve reached down to shake it, slightly unsettled by such a strong grip – and such formality – in a seven-year-old. He remembered his first meeting with Tony. Was this … better?

“It’s an honor to meet you, too,” he replied. Sam snorted. Tony looked at him nervously, before his gaze flitted back to Steve’s. He could see what Nat meant about tension – Tony was almost vibrating with it. Actually … he was literally shaking. Steve frowned. “I don’t mean to startle you, Tony. I know this must be odd. Trust me, it’s a little weird for me, too.”

“I’m sorry,” Tony said. His eyes were wide.

“For what?”

“Um.” Tony looked back at Nat. Steve noticed with horror that his lip was trembling. For God’s sake. How had he managed to screw this up? He squatted to Tony’s eye-level, and took hold of his wrist.

“Hey, Tony –“ Like a chain reaction, one Steve could just about track with his eyes, every part of the kid’s body locked. He didn’t even turn to look at Steve, eyes still frozen on Nat. “Oh, shit, I – I mean, gosh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize your arm was still painful, I should have asked Bruce –“ He dropped the wrist, cursing himself.

“Why doesn’t everyone just take a few deep breaths,” Sam said calmly. Steve saw Tony’s stomach rise and fall, three times. Then he turned back to face Steve, one hand loosely holding his wrist.

“I’m sorry,” Tony said, again.

“What do you think you need to be sorry for?” Steve asked, frustration edging into his voice. Of course, of all the children he’d met, in all his hospital tours, all his street selfies, all his red fucking carpets, Tony would be the one his charm had no effect on.

“I haven’t been working,” Tony enunciated. His eyes were nervous, but fixed rigidly on Steve as he spoke. He tried to see his friend in the deep brown.

“What work would you have? You’re seven years old.”

“I think everyone’s a little confused,” Sam said, tone soft and low. Steve could have cried with gratitude for his presence. Nat looked about as uncomfortable as she ever allowed herself to, and Steve was beginning to realize that most of his interactions with children had been limited to five-minute periods. “Tony – Steve lives here,” Sam continued. “He’s a part of our team, like Nat was saying. He woke up in the future, and now he helps Nat, Bruce, me and you fight bad guys. He isn’t here because you’ve done anything wrong.” Tony looked back and forth between the two of them.

“I’m on a team with Captain America?” Steve could hear the barely-masked incredulity in his voice. He almost smiled. When had the Tony he knew gotten so cocky?

“You help me lead the team, actually,” Steve said, trying for an encouraging grin. “You’re very good at it.”

“Thank you, Captain,” Tony said, not looking at all convinced.

“You can call me Steve. Unless you’d prefer I called you Mister Stark, of course.” Tony shook his head violently.

“You said that your dad told you about Steve,” Sam said. “What stuff did he tell you?” Tony’s mouth opened, then shut. “Sometimes,” Sam said, not letting the silence stretch, “People aren’t all they’re cracked up to be.”

“Hey!”

“For example: Steve, here, is very boring. Spends a lot of time in museums, and doesn’t punch Hitler nearly as often as the comics would have you believe.”

“Look – I never met Hitler, and if I had done, I’d have had a slightly more nuanced approach than to punch him in the face.“

“And he says stuff like that. So what we’re going to do,” Sam said, walking over to the wall and opening the built-in freezer, “is have some ice cream, and let Steve tell you a little about himself. Isn’t that right?”

“Uh.” Steve was slightly lost for words. Suddenly, he couldn’t remember a single interesting thing he’d done. “Sure …”

“I’m going to –“

“Sit down, Nat. Tony, sit next to Natasha, I’ll get the two of you bowls.”

“What is this, a play-date?” Nat said, hovering a hand over Tony’s shoulder, guiding him gently toward the couch.

“Hopefully we can avoid getting jelly on the walls,” Sam said, sticking a spoon into the chocolate ice-cream.

“Is that usually a risk?” Steve grinned, sitting opposite Nat and Tony.

“You wouldn’t think so, would you?” Sam shook his head, wearing a put-upon frown.

“I should meet your niece,” Nat remarked.

“No, no, nope,” Sam said, dropping into the couch next to Steve, putting four bowls of ice cream on the coffee-table. “Once she meets you, she’ll never listen to me again. Her standards for both coolness and authority will go way up.”

“Yeah, it sounds like you’re doing great without me,” Nat said, passing Tony a bowl. Steve realized how much Tony seemed to have relaxed, just listening to the two of them talk. It was a shame Nat had decided to take herself out of the picture. Steve felt the awkwardness of his previous attempts at conversation weighing on his chest, a barrier from speech. He sank a spoon into his ice cream, watching condensation cloud the metal.

“Did you have ice cream in the olden days, Steve?” Sam asked. Steve grinned.

“They served it to the troops.”

“Bull. See?” Sam jerked a thumb at Steve. “Captain America lies.”

“I’m not lying!” Steve protested. “I had more dessert in the war than I ever had before it.” He smiled at Tony. “They like pretending I’m ancient.”

“Yeah, you’ve got to remember, Tony,” Nat said, leaning in conspiratorially, “he’s only ninety-six.” Tony nodded slightly around a small mouthful of ice cream, looking vaguely in the direction of Nat’s torso.

“How about you, Tony?” Steve asked, trying to catch his gaze. There was an odd, nervous wobble in his voice. “Is anything different from what you’re used to?” Tony met his eyes briefly. There was a tense pause.

“The screens are different,” he said. “The holographic displays. We don’t have those.”

“Neither do most places, to be fair,” Sam said, rolling his eyes. “We get some perks, living with Mr. Stark Industries.” Tony ducked his head.

“I feel pretty out of my depth, most of the time,” Steve said. “I’ve been here for years, and I’m not as comfortable with technology as you seem to be after four days.” Tony looked at him properly this time, his shoulders dropping slightly.

“Really?”

They stumbled through conversation after that, Tony gradually edging away from Natasha, answering Steve with longer and longer sentences. Sam brought up Steve’s drawing, and after some gentle pushing he showed Tony a few sketches – quick scribbles, animals in clothes, the kind of stuff he’d draw for a nice fan, but Tony stared at them like they were spun gold. After about an hour, Steve noticed the pauses before Tony’s responses getting longer, his contributions to the conversation rarer. Soon Nat suggested to Tony that they went back to his room; Steve realized it was 7:30, the bedtime her and Sam had been trying to instill.

“It was lovely meeting you, Tony,” Steve said, reaching out a hand. The serum prevented even his face-muscles from getting tired, but this smile felt more like a rictus grin. Tony took his hand, a little pale, but with all the firmness of before.

“An honor, Captain.” Steve didn’t bother trying to correct him, watching as Nat guided him out of the room, hovering but never touching. The second the door closed, Steve put his head in his hands. He realized they were trembling. Sam gave a low whistle.

“Did you see that? Kid had a major adrenaline crash. Can I pay you to tire out my niece?”

“What the fuck, Sam.” Steve drew a hand over his face. “Why was that so hard?” Sam shook his head.

“Maybe we didn’t take Jarvis seriously enough? The kids you see today … I’m not saying you’re not cool, but they haven’t grown up with the hype the way Tony did.”

“He wasn’t looking at me like I was Kanye, he was looking at me like I was _God_. The spooky, Old Testament kind.”

“He’s freaked out.” Sam shrugged. “Maybe we misjudged.” Steve appreciated the loyalty, how ‘Nat’ went unsaid. “You handled it OK.”

“Did I?” He looked at Sam in genuine askance. Sam met him with the earnest gaze he was never quite prepared for.

“Yeah. You alright?”

“I just want to be able to do something well. That’s all.” Sam pushed himself off the couch, and started collecting bowls.

“You know, I may not run classes anymore, but I know a few people I could put you in contact with. Might do you some good, talking with other vets. Or just listening.”

“Oh, it’s nothing like that,” Steve laughed, aware that Sam knew him a bit too well for it to be convincing. “I’m just tired, these days.”

“Tired isn’t really something you should be feeling for days.” Sam didn’t push any further, bringing up a display once he’d finished tidying, leaving Steve to run through the last hour in his mind. It was probably just nerves, for both of them. Before Captain America, people had avoided looking at the sickly kid who might not last the winter. Now, the spotlight could be so dazzling, they were afraid to treat him like a human being. He imagined Bucky cuffing him over the head. _Always something to complain about, Stevie._

Nat returned about twenty minutes later, and lay down on the couch.

“Well. That was less than ideal.”

“I’m sorry, Na-“

“God, you’re as bad as the kid, I didn’t say it was your fault.” Nat sighed, massaging the bridge of her nose. “We just need to get him used to you. See that you’re as lame as the rest of us. The solution isn’t for you to hide in your surveillance den, Steve, it’s for you to keep talking to him.”

“He doesn’t seem to like me.”

“It’s not a matter of like or dislike. I’m not sure he considered whether you _got along_. He was too busy being anxious.”

“I don’t get it,” Sam said. “It’s Captain-fucking-America. The goodest of good guys. Wouldn’t punch a fly unless it threatened truth, justice, and all that was pre-shrunk and cottony. What’s to worry about?”

“This is a hunch,” Nat said. “But I don’t think Tony got the same spiel as the rest of the US.”

“Well, Howard knew I wasn’t perfect,” Steve frowned, “but that’s no reason for Tony to be _scared_ of me.”

“I’m not sure ‘scared of you’ is accurate,” Nat said. “More, ‘scared of not living up to your standards.’”

“What standards?”

“The war-hero, saved-the-world, America’s golden boy standards.”

“Those aren’t my standards!”

“I know, Steve. It just might take a few more ice-cream sessions for that to sink in.”

“Well God knows I didn’t make it any better, grabbing hold of his injured arm. I feel like such an idiot, I assumed it was completely healed.” There was a pause.

“That was the other arm,” Nat said.

“What?”

“That was the other arm. The one you held was never injured.”

“… Oh. But the way he reacted, I assumed –“

“I’m not sure he trusts any of us enough for us to be grabbing limbs just yet,” Sam said. He looked uncomfortable. “Not even Captain America.”

“This is awful,” Steve muttered. “It feels so wrong, seeing Tony like this.”

“Missing the cocky bastard now, huh?”

Steve snorted. “You know, I wouldn’t mind if he appeared and started making fun of me for that, if it meant he was back to normal.”

“We’ll get him there,” Nat said. “Now that I can put all my time into intelligence, Clint and I will find the target. Strange will have him sorted out before you can say ‘pompous asshole.’”

“We’re lucky to have you, Nat,” Sam said, only half-ironically.

“Don’t you know it,” Nat said, throwing a lazy thumbs-up from her position on the couch. Steve made a conscious effort to release the tension from his shoulders. Who’d have thought a seven-year-old would be more stressful than a blob-monster?

***

Tony didn’t talk on the way back to his room. His head was spinning, so he concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other. On seeming normal. When they arrived, Natasha sat down, and motioned for him to do the same. She rested her chin on the tips of her fingers.

“Is there anything you want to say?” she asked, quietly. Tony swallowed.

“Was that really Captain America?”

“Yes. Star-struck?” That was one way to put it. He nodded.

“When you saw Steve –“ he wanted to correct her, instinctively – “you asked if your dad was here.” Tony cringed. That had been stupid. Bruce had told him his dad was dead.

“Sorry.”

“I’m not telling you off, Tony. I’m just wondering why.”

“My dad was friends with Captain Rogers.” And he’d been stupid enough to think that he could escape him here.

“If your dad was friends with Steve, doesn’t it make sense that Steve would be friends with you too?” Tony shook his head.

“Dad’s friends aren’t my friends. I’m too childish, and not smart enough.” Natasha frowned.

“Who told you that? That doesn’t sound right to me.”

“I was acting like a baby.” Tony fought back tears. “I held your hand. And Sam gave me a toy. And I’ve been wasting my time on games. Captain Rogers knows all of that, doesn’t he?” Nat looked thoughtful.

“You know the toys Bruce gave you?” Tony nodded miserably. They had been a test, clearly. One he had failed. “Steve bought those. We were worried that seeing him might freak you out, but he wanted to help. He wanted you to be happy. So he went to the store, and picked them out for you.” Tony stared at her, not quite believing what he was hearing. “Is that what you were apologizing to Steve for? You were worried he might think you were childish?”

“Captain Rogers,” Tony murmured, nodding.

“Hey.” Natasha put her hand on the table, next to his. “Bottom line, you can call Steve anything you want. But I want to be clear – and this is something Steve would want you to know, too. When you’re famous … when you’re in the public eye … everyone has opinions about you. Everyone has things they’ll want to say about you. And not all of those are true. I bet you know the real Howard Stark isn’t the same as the one in the papers, right?” Natasha paused, but Tony didn’t say anything. “Well, the same’s true of Steve. He _is_ Captain America, or Captain Rogers – but that doesn’t mean he’s the character you might have read about in comics, or seen on cereal boxes. He’s a person, just like you and me – OK, not _exactly_ like you and me,” she said when Tony shook his head, “but he has flaws, and he has a personality. He’s not some unfeeling, all-powerful, one-man-machine. He cried at a new Disney movie last week. So I think you should try to differentiate between the guy you’ve heard about, and the friend we know. Try calling him Steve.”

“OK,” Tony said. Just to satisfy her – he wouldn’t be able to do it. But hopefully, he’d carry on seeing Bruce and Natasha and Sam like before, and wouldn’t have to talk to Captain Rogers much. He certainly didn’t want to talk to him alone. Dad always acted nice when there were other people around.

“Good,” Natasha said. She held an arm out. “Do you think I could get a hug?” After a moment’s hesitation, Tony hopped off his chair, and walked into her arms. She wouldn’t have offered if she didn’t mean it. He tried to lose himself in the warmth for a moment, feeling the odd jitteriness fade from his body. Natasha patted him on the back, and he stepped away. She held his gaze. “Tony. You know I told you that I was a spy?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I’ve got to spend more time doing spy stuff for a while. So I won’t see you as much.” Tony’s heart sank. But it made sense. If he wasn’t her job anymore, there was no reason for her to stick around. It was better that she left because she didn’t have to stay, rather than because he’d made her angry.

“I understand.”

“Do you?” She looked tired. Like he might make her exasperated soon. He took a small step back.

“Yes. Thank you, Natasha.”

“You don’t need to thank me, kid.” Her arm lifted a little, then returned to her side. “You have fun with Sam, Bruce and Steve, OK?” He nodded. “Goodnight, Tony.”

“Goodnight,” he said. She smiled, and walked out. His eyes lingered on the door as it swung shut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First Contact! Merry Christmas, everyone. Let me know what you think! And don't worry - there's plenty more to come.
> 
> Want more? Want it now?? Well I wrote a stony oneshot for Christmas, featuring the domesticy Avengers dynamic we know and love. Read it [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17125385).
> 
> You can [subscribe to me on Ao3](https://archiveofourown.org/users/coveredsnow/) to be updated when new chapters or new fics are posted, and follow me at [coveredsnow](http://coveredsnow.tumblr.com/) on tumblr for news about other fics, updates, and to hmu with any questions xx


	10. Chapter 10

It was 7:20 AM. Tony tip-toed down the corridor, toward what the digital map told him was the communal kitchen. It was later than Natasha had brought him breakfast the past few days, but Tony didn’t know when the rest of the tower’s residents slept, and he was scared of waking someone up. He had waited a while in case Natasha appeared, although Karen had told him she was working. Eventually his hunger had become stronger than his nerves. Early morning light filtered through the occasional window, creating a cold, gray unearthliness, amber tinges on the glimpsed horizon threatening his discovery. The feeling was back again: he’d stumbled into a world where he didn’t belong. The door opened without a squeak, and he reached to turn on the lights. He squinted in the sudden brightness.

“ **AHHH!** ” Tony jumped back against the wall, hand over his mouth to hold in a scream. Sat at the table was a man in boxer shorts and a gray T-shirt, stubble covering his chin, holding some kind of controller. “ _Fuck_ , you made me die! Oh, _shit_ , it’s you. I mean, shit, fuck, Tony, can you not tell them I swore in front of you? I wouldn’t have, I promise, I was just unprepared, I just – fuck – look, I didn’t expect anyone to be down here at the ass-crack of dawn –“ Tony was fumbling with the handle of the door, which had closed behind him. “Oh, shit, wait! Wait, I’m friendly, I promise! I’m Nat’s best friend! Will you accept Nat as a character ref?” Tony gave up on the door – his hands were shaking too much, body betraying him as always. “Fuck, I’ve got a, uh – OK, I swear, I’m going to stop swearing in a minute –“ Tony turned as he heard the man stumbling around behind him. He was pulling on a thread-bare purple bathrobe, with frayed sleeves and a hole above the chest pocket. “That was a really bad start. I’m sorry, kid, my bad, you surprised me. I was playing an, uh, video-game, d’you have video-games in the seventies? My childhood wasn’t exactly conventional – uh, point is, either way, I was pretending to shoot people … not that I love murder! In real life. Although I do … kill people. Occasionally. Oh, fuck, I can’t believe no-one is here to supervise this. Adult-you would be pissing your pants laughing, if that’s any consolation.”

Tony took in the room behind the man. The table he’d been sitting at was to the right of a breakfast bar and kitchen area. In front of his seat was a half-empty bowl of cereal, box still out. Eyes adjusting to the light now, Tony could see a faint display over the table, showing large red text: “GAME OVER”. There was a wet stain on the front of the man’s shirt. As Tony looked, he shifted the robe awkwardly to cover it.

“Look, I’ll be straight with you, kid, I’m what we call sleep-deprived. My schedule goes a little haywire when I’m on task, and I’ve been following one lead for a lot of consecutive hours. Our friend – Nat – she’s taken over for now. This is my dinner, then I’m heading to bed.”

“You work with Natasha?”

“Nat, you, Bruce, all of you. I’m Clint.”

“I’m so sorry for disturbing you, Mr. Clint.”

“Yeah, Nat said you liked apologizing. And titles. Honestly, adult-you could learn a thing or two from fun-sized you. But you can drop the Mr., it makes me feel like I’m in trouble. And, like I said, this is my bad. Why are you down here? Want some breakfast?”

“I’m fine, thank y–“

“Nah, don’t worry about it, you’ve got to try this cereal. It’s, like, 90% sugar. I’m basically eating cotton candy. I really am sorry about the swearing, by the way – please don’t tell Cap.” Could he mean … Captain Rogers? Did anyone use proper titles here? Clint put a bottle of milk on the table. No jug. Tony wasn’t even sure whether he’d call Clint’s current outfit an ‘outfit’. Eating habits in the future really were bizarre. “Come on, kid, sit down. Did I scare you? I shouldn’t have yelled, I was getting a little, uh, involved. Sometimes after working for twenty hours you just want to punch something, you know?” Clint poured out another bowl of cereal. He didn’t seem to be waiting for an answer. Tony stayed by the door. Clint looked over and frowned. “You OK?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You’re being very respectful, considering you found me eating cereal in boxers and a stained T-shirt while playing video games at seven in the morning.” Tony didn’t know how he was meant to respond to that. “You’re pretty skittish, huh? Sorry, I should dial back my attitude – the Tony I’m used to is more of a ‘cool explosions first, ask questions later’ kinda guy. You’re more chill than I was expecting.”

“Sorry, sir.”

“Wasn’t a criticism.” Clint’s frown was deepening. “I feel like I’ve screwed up here. Which is annoying, because I thought Cap was gonna take the award for worst conversational gambit.” He spooned up a mouthful of cereal, and talked around it. “Look, I don’t want you to get the wrong idea. I’m a pretty laid-back guy. Why don’t you come and have some cereal? I have another controller, you could play with me if you want.” Tony looked at the translucent display, then back at Clint. He didn’t want to pretend to shoot people. Or think about what the weapons he made for Dad looked like in action. But he couldn’t annoy Clint again. And what would Captain Rogers say if Clint told him Tony wouldn’t even pretend to fight?

“Yes, please.”

“Yes? Yeah! OK, great. Only a couple of games, then I really need to get some shut-eye, I’m on the verge of seeing double here, but I’ve never been one for healthy life choices.” Clint sat back down. Tony took the seat next to him. There was no spoon next to his bowl, but he didn’t want to draw attention to the mistake. Clint talked him through the different buttons on the controller, and within minutes Tony was moving a figure through mud, fake explosions peppering the display with dirt. He flicked through his weapons. Some of them, Dad had made him assemble as practice. A figure fell in front of him.

 _“What are you doing?_ ” The controller slipped from Tony’s numb fingers. The red text came up on the display – “GAME OVER.” Standing in the doorway was Captain Rogers. He looked incredulous. A red flush was building in his cheeks.

“Give a guy some warning, will you?” Clint complained, putting down his controller. “You made us lose!” It was a game. Of course, it was a game, and it didn’t matter if it was a war game, because games were a waste of his time, and now he’d been caught –

“What were you _thinking_?” Tony couldn’t speak, and he knew that stammering made it worse, but so did silence, and he just sat there, feeling the blood drain from his face.

“We were playing a game! I know they didn’t have those in Ye Ancient Times, but –“

“He’s _seven years old_ , Clint. You think that’s appropriate?”

“I – oh … shit.”

“ _Language!_ ”

“OK, cool it, Mother Teresa, I’m sorry, I’m running on fumes here.” Clint turned to look at Tony, face squinting and apologetic. “You OK, kid? In retrospect, that was pretty stupid, why didn’t you say something?” Tony opened his mouth, but nothing would come out. Clint was looking at him very closely. “Stupid of _me_ , to be clear. We – you know you’re not in trouble, right? That game was too violent for someone your age, I shouldn’t have –“

“Why on Earth would _he_ be in trouble? He’s not the one _traumatizing our friend_!”

“Christ, _OK_ , will you take it down a notch? I’m sorry. Tony, I’m sorry. I’m going to take my cereal and go to bed, because clearly I’m not qualified to be a human being at the moment.”

“No, Clint, I –“ Captain Rogers formed one hand in a fist, rotating it across his chest. “I shouldn’t have yelled, I know you’ve been working hard. It’s been a long week, I’m out of sorts –“

“I get it, Cap,” Clint said, clapping a hand on his shoulder as he walked past, bowl in one hand. “We could all use a vacation. If anyone disturbs me for the next twelve hours, someone better have died.” Once the door shut, the only sound was the whirring fridge.

“Um.” Captain Rogers didn’t look angry anymore. But Tony couldn’t be sure. “Were you down here for breakfast?”

“Yes, Captain.”

“I – uh. OK.” Captain Rogers glanced at the cereal box on the table. “That stuff will rot your teeth, but … I suppose a few bowls can’t hurt.” He was wearing a tight white T-shirt and black jeans. Tony tried to imagine him in the Captain America uniform, but that only made him more nervous. “Geez, I sound like someone’s mother. You really are going to think I’m no fun at all.” He frowned. “You want a spoon?”

“I can get one –“

“It’s fine, I’m up.” Tony watched, wanting to pinch himself, as Captain America fetched him a spoon. And then poured himself a bowl of cereal. “I get very hungry,” he explained, “because of the serum. I need lots of calories. Bruce said you’ve been helping him work on some kind of super energy bar?”

“I just suggested some things,” Tony said, not quite able to make eye-contact when Captain Rogers was so close. If he noticed, he didn’t mention it.

“Well, maybe we should start writing down your suggestions,” he said. “Give us something to do when we figure out how to get you back to – uh. Well.” Tony listened to the scrape of his spoon against the bowl. “Look – I’m sorry for interrupting your game with Clint. It’s just – those games aren’t really meant for people your age. They’re meant for adults.” Tony blinked. “And call me old-fashioned, but I don’t see why people would pretend to fight in a war for fun. The best thing about a war is its end. Why on Earth you’d want to bring one into your own home …” Tony felt like his mind was stuck on a record scratch. The things this Captain Rogers said … his drawings, the toys he’d apparently bought … Tony remembered what Natasha had told him. “ _When you’re in the public eye … Everyone has things they’ll want to say about you. And not all of those are true._ ” This didn’t sound like the man Dad had told him about.

“I didn’t like it,” Tony said.

“No?” Captain Rogers looked at him closely. “Well, Clint’s a good guy. Don’t go thinking otherwise. He’s just a little out of it at the moment – he’s been working very hard. But I know a game you might like better.” Tony finished his cereal as Captain Rogers tapped at the display, grumbling quietly about ‘mumbo-jumbo’, before eventually asking Karen to find something for him. _Steve_ , he repeated in his mind. _Steve_. “OK, here we go,” Captain Rogers said. A green and brown title-screen appeared on the display. “PIKMIN” was spelled out in tiny white flowers. “I’ll be upfront with you: Clint makes fun of me for liking this. So you might think it’s, uh, a bit lame. I don’t mean to trap you here if you find it boring. But _I_ think it’s calming. And pretty cool.”

An hour later, Tony was completely absorbed when Steve’s phone began beeping. Reeling slightly, Tony realized that they’d been talking, collaborating in the game, without him even thinking about it. Neither of them had been very good, but somehow that had made it more fun. He’d been playing a game about flowers for an hour. With Captain America.

“Oh, oops. I’m sorry, Tony, I’ve got to go, I’m due to train with Sam. But this was really fun. Uh, I think so, anyway, do you – did you?”

“I like that game,” Tony said. Steve grinned in response.

“Fantastic. Finally, someone who appreciates the good things in life. I’ll see you later, Tony.”

“Bye, Steve.” Steve waved on the way out. When the door shut behind him, Tony grinned.

***

“Captain Rogers.”

“What is it, Jarvis? Did you find something?”

“No. My apologies, Captain. I merely wished to point out that you have not eaten for eight hours. Your ideal caloric intake indicates that you will begin to experience negative side-effects before long.”

“Jesus … eight hours?” That explained the brain-fog. He’d been having trouble processing the display for a while now. “OK, done for …” He sighed. “Nah, I’ll keep going, thanks.”

“Captain, such an intense period of work is not likely to produce improved results. The longer you refrain from food and rest, the stronger the likelihood that you will miss a crucial detail. Your efficiency will also be reduced.”

“You don’t usually, uh, comment so much.”

“Indeed. I generally reserve this level of interference for Sir. Incidentally, he is usually the only one to require it.”

“Missing him too, huh?”

“It is a different experience, caring for a child. Occasionally challenging, but not a wholly unwelcome insight.” Steve tilted his chin upwards, inviting Jarvis to continue. “The relationship and understanding I have with his older self is absent. While my human counterpart cared for Mr. Stark throughout his childhood, all my knowledge comes from anecdotal evidence. It is unfortunate that we cannot converse directly, when his need for me has arguably increased. But upon reversion to his normal state, I am optimistic that this experience will help me assist him.” Steve tapped his chin.

“You can be optimistic, then?”

“Sir would call it a can-do attitude.” Steve chuckled.

”We could always try introducing you now? He’s already figured out that the Jarvis he knows is dead.”

”I do not believe it would be wise to render his environment any more unstable. He has just begun to trust the persona of ‘Karen’; his relationships with yourselves may not be strong enough for such a revelation to seem anything but a betrayal, inviting mistrust in both myself and the Avengers.”

Steve nodded. He fell silent, staring at the now-blurry display.

“He would look for me.” He dug a fingernail into the pad of his thumb. “He wouldn’t stop looking.”

“I cannot comment from any personal knowledge of Sergeant Barnes, but I doubt he would want you to neglect your own health. You will be better able to serve both yourself and him if you are well-fed and rested.” Steve was silent. “Stopping to feed yourself does not constitute an abandonment of the search.”

“You’re right.” He ran a hand over his eyes. “I probably got in too deep.”

“Mr. Barton and Dr. Banner have made brownies, if that sounds appealing.”

“Oooh …”

The smell of melted chocolate wafted down the corridor as Steve walked toward the kitchen. He paused outside the door when he heard the voice of a child – still so strange in the context of the tower. Relaxing slightly when he heard Sam’s deep tones, he went in.

“Hey, Steve!” Sam said, immediately and cheerily, projecting boundless enthusiasm. It seemed effortless, the way he considered Tony in every action. Tony looked up, and Steve saw the now-familiar nervousness in his eyes – but it faded fairly rapidly, and Tony smiled. Steve grinned, partly in response, partly in relief.

“Hey, guys. Karen said there were brownies …” Sam and Tony were knelt on the floor, surrounded by blue projections of Sam’s wing parts. He could hear people banging around in the kitchen, just out of sight.

“What makes you think you’re getting any, Rogers?” Clint called, coming into view wearing an eye-popping muscle-man apron, and carrying a pile of plates.

“My reliable silence about your breakfast habits,” he replied. Bruce followed Clint to the table, holding a tin with oven-gloves. “Weren’t you going to sleep for twelve hours?”

“Turns out I don’t have that kind of functionality,” Clint said wryly, cutting into the brownie and motioning everyone to the table. “But Nat’s banned me from working for another four, so I hijacked Bruce and we made super-brownies.”

“Super-brownies?” Sam asked, taking a seat. Tony hopped up next to him.

“They’re regular brownies, but with white chocolate chips, marshmallows, Oreos, and a hero-complex. They’re saving you from a lifetime of sadness.” Steve snorted.

“Bruce, can you confirm these won’t poison us?”

“I don’t think I got my vials mixed up,” Bruce said, plating the pieces Clint had cut. Tony thanked him quietly as he was handed one.

“I resent the implication,” Clint said. “I’m a regular Betty Crocker. Oh, she’s a –“

“We had Betty Crocker,” Steve said, rolling his eyes. “What have you guys been up to?” he asked the others. There was a brief pause as Sam reached over to high-five Clint and Bruce; Tony, taking delicate bites from a teaspoon, looked positively overjoyed. Steve tried his own, and sent a silent prayer of thanks to Jarvis. Sam, mouth full of brownie, nodded toward Tony, who blushed.

“We’ve been trying to improve Sam’s wings,” he said quietly. “I’m sure you could find someone better than me.“

“Nah, you’re the best in the biz,” Clint said, shaking his head. “Anyway, this is just messing around, right? Just for fun, I mean. I wouldn’t trust Sam to fly anything he’d had a hand in building.”

“You’re lucky your baking’s good,” Sam retorted. Tony looked at Steve, some of the nervousness back in his face. Steve tried to smile as reassuringly as possible. Some days he wanted to crack that shield in two.

“You’re much smarter than I was at your age,” he said instead, wiping his mouth. “I wouldn’t know how to change a fuse.”

“Thankfully, we have people more qualified than Steve to do that for us,” Bruce smiled.

“Hey, I could _now_!” Steve protested, glad that he’d probably never have to.

“Yeah, they made him do an electricity skills course,” Clint snorted.

Steve rolled his eyes. “You wouldn’t last one week in 1940.”

“I’m pretty sure bows and arrows had been invented in 1940.”

“There’s more to life than _shooting_ people, Clint.”

“Who said anything about shooting people? I could go to the woods, live off the land, raise a, um,”

“Hamster?” Sam suggested. They all laughed; even Tony grinned. He opened his mouth, then closed it again. They quietened down, pretending to concentrate on their food, giving him the space to speak.

“I was just wondering … whether I might be able to go outside? Please?” Clint straightened up, putting down his spoon.

“Outside, like, outside the tower?” He shot Steve look of concern.

Tony nodded. “I haven’t been outside since I got here, and since – since this isn’t a kidnapping –“

“Of course it’s not,” said Bruce, leaning forward. “We don’t want you to feel trapped here.”

“But at the same time,” Sam said, glancing at Bruce, “it’s not a good idea for you to go out right now.” Bruce and Clint nodded.

“I wouldn’t run away,” Tony said, a small frown on his face. “I know you’re not trying to hurt me.” Steve’s stomach tightened; there was no way he was explaining to a seven-year-old that someone else almost definitely was. Someone with unknown abilities, who might even be able to affect him inside the tower.

“I’m sorry, Tony,” he said. “I’m sure you wouldn’t, but I’m afraid it’s not possible.”

“I’ll do whatever you tell me to. It doesn’t have to be far, or for long. I’d just like to look around a bit.” Steve frowned. If Tony thought they’d keep him inside on the off-chance that he’d misbehave, he didn’t trust them as much as they’d hoped.

“We don’t like it any more than you do,” Bruce said, looking lost, “but it’s the way things have to be. It’s just a precaution.”

“Natasha said I could have anything I wanted,” Tony said, raising his voice slightly. Steve looked at Bruce and Sam, who seemed as surprised as he was; he hadn’t heard the kid raise his voice once, either in person or over surveillance.

“Within reason,” Sam said, softly. “I promise, we’ve got your best interests at heart, but –“

“Then _let me go outside!_ ” Sam recoiled slightly. Tony was flushed, his eyes bright, knuckles white around the handle of his spoon.

“Hey,” Sam said, firmly. Steve could see him gearing up to put his foot down – but suddenly all the fight seemed to leave Tony, as if his mind had caught up with his mouth. His eyes flitted from side to side, the red leaving his cheeks. With a murmured “Excuse me,” he pushed himself back from the table, and started in the direction of the door. Clint reached out from his seat, and put a hand on his retreating shoulder.

“Hey, kid, I know this sucks. Nat wasn’t lying to you – anything we _can_ get you, we will try. But – hey, are you OK?” A horrible stillness had come over Tony, the same that Steve had observed yesterday. When he didn’t respond, Clint stood and walked around to face him, concern showing on his face. “Tony?” He hadn’t moved, but his shoulders were rising and falling rapidly, short shallow breaths audible. Clint met Sam’s eyes.

“Panic attack,” Sam murmured. Bruce got up quickly and went to Tony, crouching down in front of him.

“I know some things that can help with that,” he said softly, with an encouraging smile. “It’s scary, isn’t it?” Steve watched, hands numb, helpless once again, as Bruce talked Tony through some breathing exercises. After a few sets, he asked if Tony would like to come to his lab for a cup of tea, and Tony nodded minutely. Bruce guided him gently out the door, looking over his shoulder to indicate that he had everything under control.

Clint looked stricken.

“Was that me?” He croaked. “Did I do that?”

“Don’t beat yourself up, man,” Sam said, shaking his head. “He gets jumpy sometimes – all that talk about not being able to go outside … he probably started feeling claustrophobic, was reminded of the whole kidnapping thing. You were just trying to help.” Clint shook his head.

“I barely touched him,” he muttered. “Kids shouldn’t freeze up like that. I barely touched him.”

“He’s been through a lot,” Sam shrugged. “It must be freaky, waking up in the future, being told that you’re an adult. Hell, he only found out his parents were dead two days ago. No wonder he’s off-balance.”

“I barely touched him,” Clint muttered again, piling brownies on his plate. He gave them a mock salute. “I need to get back to work.”

“Go easy on yourself, Clint,” Steve said as he walked out. Clint threw up a hand in acknowledgement. Steve rolled his shoulders, and leaned his head back. “Do you think we’re doing enough?”

“I’m not sure what else we can do,” Sam said. “We can’t make this experience _normal_.”

“I just feel.” Steve bit his lip, and put a hand over his eyes.

“You want some of Dr. Banner’s calming tea?” Sam said with good-natured humour. Steve nodded, smiling even as his eyes burned. “Christ, Cap. We’re taking you to Malibu after this. Crash Tony’s fancy pad. Soak up the sun – I assume you can’t get skin cancer?”

“I’m fine, Sam.”

“Yeah, of course you’re fine. You’re always fine.” A hand clasped his shoulder. “Just make sure that … when we find him, there’s still some of _you_ left.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, commenting and kudos! You're all so kind xxx
> 
> For anyone without some level of received fandom knowledge about Clint’s backstory (which of course is not mentioned in the wonderfully fleshed-out, well-considered and thoughtfully-maintained iteration of Hawkeye the MCU gives us), maybe run a quick eye over the first bits of his [Earth-616 wiki page](http://marvel.wikia.com/wiki/Clinton_Barton_\(Earth-616\)). Like I mentioned before, I’m picking and choosing from MCU and fanon when it comes to Clint, but if you’re not up on that it might help you decide which inferences to make.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for your comments, they make me so happy <3

“And you have all of these materials?”

“Anything we don’t have, I can easily order in. I don’t need to inform the rest of your team, if that’s what you’d prefer.”

“They’re not my team,” Tony murmured, fiddling with a connecting component.

“As you wish.”

“Karen?” Tony scribbled out a section that wasn’t coming together. “Is Steve nice?”

“That’s quite a subjective question. I think he fits the standard definition.”

“Does he like children?”

“He visits many children whom he thinks would enjoy his company. He wants them to like him.”

 “Dad doesn’t think … that Captain America would like me.”

“Perhaps you should remember what Natasha said. People are often different from the stories we tell about them.” Tony nodded. He was beginning to see the truth in that.

Earlier today, when he’d raised his voice … thinking about it still sent a shiver down his spine. The _ability_ to do that had come from nowhere. The crushing sense of having nowhere to go, of being entirely powerless, hadn’t been anything new. But usually, he froze up; sometimes he felt like he was floating above his body, watching the nightmare happen to someone else. But here … with them …

Eventually, it had turned out the same, of course. The burst of anger and confidence had disappeared as quickly as it has come, leaving him only with fear. He had hoped to escape before they saw his panic, but when Clint –

He put his pencil down and took slow, measured breaths, the way Bruce had taught him. Short breath in, long breath out. Clint had only been trying to help. He had been eating his brownies only moments earlier.

That was the problem. He was getting too comfortable – forgetting that he wasn’t meant to be here in the first place. He wasn’t used to being allowed to talk so much, and it was getting difficult to _stop_. Seeing dawn this morning, he had realized how long it had been since he’d felt the sun on his face. And sitting with Sam and Bruce, eating their food … it had seemed reasonable to ask. Like anything might be possible here.

When they’d told him no, his fears had come rushing back, thundering in his ears. He knew this wasn’t a kidnapping – he was _ninety percent_ sure – but now that Natasha was gone, what if things were changing? He still didn’t know the rules of this place. He was used to very clear rules.

But Steve hadn’t gotten angry when he’d panicked. He hadn’t yelled at him, or hit him, or told him to _stop being such a fucking baby_. He’d let Bruce take him away to have some tea.

“Where’s Steve now?”

“He’s in the main rec room, watching TV.”

“Is anyone else with him?”

“No.” Tony stood. While he was here, he might as well learn about the real Captain Rogers. The one so different from his dad’s stories.

 

A man on the TV was yelling “Manuel!”. Steve was grinning, sat with a bowl of popcorn. When Tony stepped forward, he looked up and paused the TV.

“Hey. How are you? Feeling better?” Tony nodded, smiling weakly. This was definitely a conversation they needed to have. He sat on one of the couches, hands folded awkwardly in his lap.

“Were you friends with my dad?” Steve looked surprised. He seemed to think for a minute, putting his popcorn on the coffee-table in front of him.

“I was, yes. We worked together – although really, it was mostly him helping me. I’d turn up every now and again, and he’d have my new body-armor, my shield … of course, it was partly his work that allowed me to become like this in the first place.”

“So … sort of like how I help you, now?”

“Yes … sort of.” Tony nodded. He supposed he couldn’t be as useful as his dad must have been. He’d always said that creating Captain America was his biggest achievement, the thing that he was most proud of.

“You must miss him a lot.”

“Yes.” Steve’s expression became sad, distant. “I miss everyone from my old life.”  Tony fiddled with his T-shirt. He knew the answer, but he had to ask; the same urge that made you press a cut, as if this time it might not hurt.

“Do you wish that he were here, instead of me?”

“I – what? It’s not like that, Tony.” Steve seemed to snap back to reality. “I wish both of you could be here. I wouldn’t swap one for the other.” He wore a look of growing dismay. “I hope you – God. Never think that.”

“But … he’s much cleverer than me. And he’s your friend.”

“ _You’re_ my friend. And you’re incredibly clever. You make stuff that Howard could never dream of.” Steve looked increasingly confused. “Maybe you can’t do everything he does yet, but you’re _young_ , Tony. You’ll learn, like we all do.” The words reverberated in his mind. Why would Dad lie to him about the sort of person Captain America was? About the sort of things he’d say? Steve was even exaggerating to make him feel better.

“You don’t mind,” he said quietly. “That I’m not working.”

“Do you mean … like school? There’s no sense in making you learn things while you’re here. When you grow up, you’ll remember all of your old knowledge.”

“Not learning – working. For the company.”

“You don’t need to be _working_. You’re too young. No one expects you to act like adult-you, just because you’re here.”

Tony shook his head. “Oh, no, I don’t mean … running Stark Industries, or anything.” He still couldn’t really believe he’d ever be allowed to do that. “I mean making things, like I do for Dad.”

“Ah – he gives you things to make?”

 Tony nodded. “Yes. I need to do my bit.”

Steve smiled, as if he’d just understood something. “I see. I’m sure your dad doesn’t mind you taking time off, though.” Dad’s voice rang in Tony’s ears. _You think we got through the war by fucking slacking off? You think Captain America took a fucking break when he was fighting Hydra? War is_ constant _, Tony. War is_ work _, and you work at it until your fingers fucking bleed_ , _because it might save the life of someone_ better than you. “What kind of stuff does he let you make? I think I remember some news clippings … about circuit-boards?” Tony shook his head. He wasn’t _that_ behind.

“I’ve been making those for years. I’m mostly onto weapons, now. Guns, and explosives, and things.”

“What?” Steve’s smile turned puzzled. “You make weapons for your dad?” Tony nodded. However much Steve talked about him being clever, he clearly didn’t think him capable of much.

“I do my bit for the company.” Maybe if he showed that he could be useful … he wouldn’t be such a disappointment next to his dad. Steve nodded uncertainly.

“I’m – I’m sure you do.”

“I don’t mean to be useless while I’m here, but … no-one’s telling me what to make.” Tony paused as his voice threatened to wobble. He couldn’t shake the feeling that it had somehow slipped their notice that he was just doing what he _wanted_ , and that when the penny dropped, it wouldn’t go well for him. “And earlier, when I …“ He couldn’t believe he was risking bringing this up again, when he’d gotten away with it before. But he had to know – had to be _sure_ – that Steve was different. Different from his dad. Different from the Captain America his dad talked about. “When I got scared, and f-froze up. I’m sorry.” Steve shook his head.

“Being scared is nothing to be sorry about. It would be strange if you _weren’t_ scared. When I woke up, after the ice … I broke through a wall, and knocked out a bunch of security guards. Good people, just trying to do their jobs.” He shrugged. “Being scared isn’t always helpful. But it is natural.” He frowned. “And I don’t know why you’d – there’s nothing we _need_ you to make, Tony. Even if there was, you’re a kid; now is your time to grow. Not to work for us without wanting to. You know we’d never make you do that, right?” Tony opened his mouth, then hesitated. The way Steve was reacting … could Tony’s work be one of the things he wasn’t supposed to talk about? He’d thought that had just been to protect company secrets, and that since he was in the future, and it was _Captain America_ he was talking to, it would be fine. He looked at Steve, judging his next words carefully.

 _Avengers, assemble_.

“Oh, for –“ Steve looked pained.

_Avengers, assemble._

“Tony, I’ve got to go. I’m sorry.” Tony nodded, relieved in a way. “Come with me – I’ll get you to a safe room.”

“It’s OK,” Tony said, getting up. “I remember the way. I can take care of myself.” Steve looked at him with an expression he couldn’t read, the flashing red light casting odd shadows on his face.

“I believe you,” he said. Then he looked up. “Karen, direct him to the nearest safe room?”

“Of course, Steve.” Steve ran out. Tony followed Karen’s directions – apparently he was going to Safe Room 1 this time. He was there within a minute; alone with books, video games, and Steve’s words, echoing in his mind.

***

Steve was cursing under his breath as he got changed and ran for the jet. He’d finally began to feel like he was _getting_ somewhere with Tony, and the fucking alarm had gone.

The next step was to show the kid that he didn’t have to lie to impress him. As if Steve would like the idea of a child making weapons. It was slightly concerning that Tony held that up as impressive in the first place …

It was all backward, the way the kid was thinking about himself. Steve supposed it was natural, to put yourself down in front of your heroes. He hadn’t wanted to disappoint Tony about how closely he and his father had worked; the truth was, Tony was far more integral to his life than Howard had ever been. Under such innocent questioning, Steve had admitted to himself that he and Howard had never been _that_ close … But anything from before, any scrap of information or familiarity, was so tantalizing now that he was dislocated in time. He hoped Tony’s uncertainty was a result of the same. He hoped … God. He hoped his friend had never imagined that Steve was looking at him, and wishing for his father.

He stumbled into the jet with that thought like a lead pit in his stomach.

“Who put out the call?” he asked, frowning to see that he and Bruce were the only ones present. Clint was usually first, ready for take-off before they’d caught their breath.

 “Mr. Wilson, Captain,” said Jarvis. Clint ran in behind Steve, and flung himself into the pilot’s seat.

“ _Cap! Would you rather fight one hundred duck-sized horses or one horse-sized duck?_ ” Sam’s voice came over the comms.

“Would I what?” Nat ran in, looking uncommonly flustered. She shook her head when Steve shot her a look of askance.

“It’s a thing, Cap,” Clint said, gearing for take-off. “One of those age-old questions, like, ‘would you rather have screaming nipples or boobs for feet.’”

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Bruce asked.

“Falcon, for God’s sake, can you stay on task and tell us what we’re dealing with here?”

“ _I’m_ trying _to. Pick one! Because that will determine which coordinates I send you.”_

“Oh, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Clint said.

“What’s that sound?” Steve asked, ears picking up something very strange in the distance. “Like … car-horns?”

_“Oh, shit, have they made it that far? You get the ducks, then.”_

“Ducks?” Clint yelled, taking off and steering in the direction Steve pointed. “There’s only supposed to be _one_ duck!”

“ _Well the very apologetic, very tearful, and increasingly-sober students who contacted me thought one duck ‘might be a bit boring.’”_

“How many horses are there?” Bruce said, with a look of growing horror.

“ _Enough for every kid in the Tri-state area who’s ever asked for a pony.”_

“Holy …” Steve stared, trying to muster some emotion other than resignation at the sight on the streets below. Cars had rode up onto the sidewalk, civilians were plastered to buildings – because waddling down the middle of the road was a seemingly endless hoard of giant ducks.

Bruce shook his head in a kind of awe. “What do we ... do?”

“Does anyone have a shrink-ray?” Clint asked. “We must know someone with a shrink-ray.”

“This does seem slightly outside our MO,” Nat said. “I can’t imagine the PR will be great if we pulverize a load of birds.”

Steve sighed, wishing Tony was here. He hadn’t missed the pressure of running a team alone. “Does anyone have a really, really large loaf of bread?”

“You know, you shouldn’t feed ducks bread,” Bruce commented. “It clogs up their stomachs, and they can’t extract nutrients from it. Lettuce is better.” Steve blinked.

“Does anyone have a massive fucking lettuce, then?” Clint asked.

They all cracked up. Steve held his stomach, bubbles of helpless laughter escaping his lips whenever he told himself to be _serious_ , they were _working_. The tension of the past five days crumbled in the face of this: the sheer absurdity of their lives.

“It could have been worse,” Bruce coughed, wiping a tear from his eye. “Tony could have been turned into a duck.” That set them off again, and eventually it was only Sam yelling over the comms that got them to calm down, still letting out the odd snort of laughter whenever they caught each other’s eye.

“I think containment is key,” Steve said, clearing his throat. “Hawkeye, you liaise with the police; Widow, you and I can act as a deterrent from them spreading further. Bruce ... can Hulk ... herd them, maybe? Like Widow says, we don’t really want pulverized ducks ...” Bruce shook his head.

“It’s fine. Hulk likes birds.”

“He – he does?”

“Yeah, it’s a thing. I had a pet parrot for a while, it’s – it’s a long story.”

“Right … I’ll pick you up on that. For now, Avengers … disperse.”

It was one of their less stressful jobs. Once the word was out for civilians to seek sturdy buildings and not approach the animals, the risk of injuries or casualties was pretty low. It turned out they did know someone with a shrink-ray; Sam put out a call to a Scott Lang and Hope van Dyne, and soon a legion of Pym Tech trucks appeared – quite literally, from what Steve was pretty sure had been a toy set ten seconds ago.

“Just chuck these at them,” the guy named Scott said, handing Nat and Steve a bunch of tiny disks matching the red and black of his suit. Hulk’s roar echoed in the background, followed by the sound of frenzied flapping.

“Just chuck them?” Steve asked dubiously.

“Yeah – um, Captain America, sir,” Scott said, blushing. Steve resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Nat tapped his shoulder, and Steve turned just in time to see a tiny figure fly past. His first, wild thought, was _fairy_. Then, with his enhanced vision, he was just able to pick out the features of Hope.

“Wow,” he breathed. Scott positively beamed.

“I can do that too,” he said. Nat raised an eyebrow at him. “Although she – she’s better.” There was a squawk from behind them, and Steve and Nat turned in time to see six horse-sized ducks become duck-sized ducks.

“What do we call you?” he asked, turning back to Scott.

“Oh, I’m Scott.” Then, blushing again at Steve’s stare – “Oh, I mean, ant. Uh, man-ant. Antman. And that’s – she’s Wasp.” Steve nodded.

“Don’t suppose you can do anything about the horses, too?”

“Oh, we totally can, I’m going to head there now,” Scott said. “Although, we figured we’d up-size them after they’re back at Pym Tech – less hassle that way.”

“What exactly are you going to do with them at Pym?” Nat asked, frowning.

“Oh, we just want to check that their organs are in the right place and everything – see how the size change affected them. Atomic disruption on this scale is pretty impressive! Or at least … that’s what Hope and Hank tell me. I mean, uh. Wasp and … Mr. Pym? He doesn’t really have a code-name –“

“It’s fine,” Steve said. “Go and help Falcon.”

“Aye-aye, Cap’n!” Scott saluted, and suddenly disappeared from sight – until Steve’s eyes found him again, riding an …

“He’s riding an ant, Widow.”

“I know,” Nat said, rolling her eyes. “I think it’s just one of those days.”

As bizarre as Antman and Wasp’s methods were, everything went a lot smoother with them involved. Hulk shepherded the ducks towards Hope, Steve, and Nat – although that was perhaps a generous term for bellowing and charging – and they threw the disks. From Sam’s occasional reports in, it seemed his and Scott’s main challenge was convincing civilians not to capture the horses and take them home as pets.

When all the duck-sized ducks and duck-sized horses were finally packed into the trucks, they regrouped in front of the jet, out of breath and smelling of dung. Clint had two armfuls of giant feathers.

“Do I even want to know?” Steve asked.

“It’s just an _idea_ ,” Clint said defensively. “I think my costume could use an update, and – OK, fuck off,” he said, as Sam creased up laughing. He took the feathers into the jet.

“Where are these students, anyway?” Steve asked. “I think they should have to clean up all this … shit.”

“Over there.” Sam pointed to where some cops were talking to four abashed-looking young adults.

“Fantastic!” Scott said, rubbing his hands together. “I’m off to recruit for Pym Tech, that’ll earn me some brownie points.” Hope was still flying around the edges of the city, checking no animals had been missed.

“Wait a minute, Antman,” Sam said, pointing to a bag Scott was carrying – an oddly wriggling bag, Steve now noticed.

“Oh, this? This is just ant stuff. Lots of ants in here. Bullet ants, very painful bite.” A small whinny came from the bag. Sam folded his arms.

“Scott, seriously?”

“OK, OK, hear me out – Cassie would love this! She’d take such good care of it, it would be the happiest mini-horse in the world –“

“Give me the goddamn horse, Scott.”

“Fine …” Scott sighed, taking a miniature brown horse out of the satchel. “No fun, this team.” He walked off to talk to the students, while Sam carried the horse to one of the trucks, shaking his head. Steve saw that Scott’s backpack was wriggling too, but decided not to mention it. Scott returned in a few minutes, looking annoyed.

“No luck?”

“They said thanks for the offer, but they’d rather work for Stark Industries! They said that Stark Industries is _cooler_! Unbelievable. I didn’t see Iron Man flying around to clean up their mess today, did you?” The team exchanged glances.

“Thanks for your help, Antman,” Steve said, shaking Scott’s hand. “Give our thanks to Wasp, too. We can handle it from here.”

“Oh, really? You’re sure? I mean, I’d love to stay and help with the clean-up –“

“It’s fine. You can go.”

“Oh my god, really? Thank you so much, thank you. It’s been an honor! Bye!” Scott practically skipped away, blinking out of sight about halfway down the street. Steve shook his head.

“Always great to meet the new guy,” Sam said, returning.

“I’m going to get the kids’ details, promise some Stark Industries money to smooth things over,” Bruce said, starting towards the police. He was chewing one of the prototype energy bars, and Steve was glad to see more color in his cheeks than usual. “I’m betting Tony will want to give them some scholarship or other.”

“How did they contact you, anyway?” Steve asked, turning to Sam. “Are you giving out your cell, now?”

“They tweeted me.”

“They _tweeted_ you? Is this a new Falcon gimmick?” Steve grinned.

“Piss off, Steve, you know what Twitter is.”

“A super-birds-only yellow pages?”

“It shows I’ve got _good social media presence_. I’m _cool_. They didn’t tweet you, did they?”

“No … they didn’t tweet me to handle their _duck_ problem. They probably wanted someone with more _expertise_.” Suspicion formed on Sam’s face.

“Oh, shit. I didn’t think about that …” Steve climbed aboard the jet, brushing feathers and horsehair from his suit. He heard Sam questioning the police in the background – “Is that what people think I _do_? Do people think I’m the _bird-problems_ guy?” He walked over to the bench where Nat and Clint were sitting, eyes closed.

“Guys.” Nat jerked upright, and poked Clint in the arm. “Are you two OK? You were a little late to report today. We had a slow mission, but if this had been a high-intensity one …” Steve hesitated. He hated having to bench anyone, but if the intelligence work was getting too much –

“It’s fine, Steve.” Nat interjected before he could say any more. “We were just about to tell you when the alarm sounded. We’ve got it.”

“Got it?”

Clint nodded, giving a tired smile. “Yeah. We know who the caster is.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oOo ~intrigue~ ...
> 
> Long chapter today, so I hope you guys don't mind that it'll be an extra week until the next one! I'm sorry, it's a busy time for me and I don't want to get too behind re chapters - the next few are already written, but stress is _the worst_ motivator for me so this'll work out better in the long-run. 
> 
> Love you loads, thank you for reading my story, thank you for your feedback, and a happy New Year xx


	12. Chapter 12

Steve called Dr. Strange. Once Sam had put Tony to bed, they all gathered in the briefing room.

“Oh, I love this,” Clint said, walking in with a Starbucks from the third floor. “It’s like the rec room, but the chairs are less comfy and the lighting’s uglier.”

“Forgive me for wanting to take this seriously,” Steve said somewhat tersely. “And couldn’t you have gotten your coffee here, Clint? We have a machine. It’s right there.”

“They don’t do it how I like it there.”

“ _You_. You mean _you_ don’t do it how you like it – OK, you know what, forget it.” He decided to let Clint have his fun; he’d been worked ragged all week. “Clint and Nat. Tell us what you’ve found.”

“OK, so,” Nat began, as Clint took a long pull from his coffee. “We’ve been going through our recent opponents, since we didn’t have any major fights within the three days before Tony changed. We checked for unusual spikes in temperature, or about twenty other Jarvis-things I don’t understand, around Tony while he was in the tower for the last few weeks, but there’s nothing – not even on the night he shrunk. So we don’t have any hard evidence. But from the civilian footage Clint pulled together, we had an idea it might be Nazi Dinosaur Lady.” Strange gave an interested hum.

“I assumed that was an April Fools hoax.”

“Do you ever leave that sanctum?” Sam muttered.

“That would be rather against the poin-“

“Anyway,” Clint interrupted, “The problem was that obviously we know jack-shit about Nazi Dinosaur Lady, since she went splat before we had the chance to question her.”

“Or at least, that’s what we thought,” Nat said. She pressed a few buttons on her phone, and the video Clint had sent Steve three days ago played on a display. “Turns out she wasn’t as thoroughly splatted as previously assumed.”

“So we’ve been trying to find an MO, see if this might be within her reach,” Clint said, rubbing his forehead. “The problem was, we couldn’t find anyone matching her description in the past twenty years of SHIELD files.”

“So we widened our scope. Considered that perhaps she hadn’t _created_ the dinosaurs, but _transported_ them. Time-travel complicates research, but there were several cases which felt familiar. Rat-alligators in New York in 1921; reports from England in 1838 – this one’s really weird – lions in chainmail with swords, standing on their hind-legs. Mammoth-bears in Toronto in 1880, wearing, for some reason, red baseball caps with slogans stitched onto them. Seemingly random combinations of mostly dangerous things, often at least one of which is in the wrong time period. But the results aren’t necessarily _more_ terrifying – I’d argue that an alligator is more threatening than a rat-alligator. And some of the dinosaurs just seemed confused.”

“All these incidents had reports of a flying woman, with long brown hair and a bright white cloak,” Clint said. “We’ve been calling her Time-weirdo, for simplicity.”

“There are also associated reports, more relevant to us,” Nat said. “Someone got in a good gunshot in 1921. Public records show he disappeared the same day, but SHIELD’s historians collated reports indicating that he was replaced with a child – from our experience, it seems likely that the child was a younger version of himself.”

“Bingo,” Bruce murmured. Nat gave him a thumbs up.

Strange steepled his fingers under his chin. “Given this track record, it seems probable that the woman belongs to a particular cult of witches Wong has mentioned.”

“Isn’t it ‘coven’?” Clint said.

“This isn’t _Twilight_ ,” Strange said, rolling his eyes. “Vampire book,” Clint signed to Steve, smirking. “They aren’t exactly human,” Strange continued. “They exist with one foot in linear time, another out of it. Some call them Oracles.” Sam coughed into his fist. “They are frustrated by the constraints linear beings enforce onto so many worlds – exasperated by a system which does not cater to their experience. Some move, across realms, across galaxies, seeking worlds more palatable. Some choose to observe, taking entertainment in struggles which seem so pointless to they who can see the ends of everything. Some become angry, and take out their rage on us.” He smiled wryly. “However, they are disconnected enough from human culture to have little grasp of what might be considered threatening. Hence the ‘attacks’ you’ve been listing.”

“She tried to shoot Steve with her staff,” Sam said. “What would have happened to him?”

“With access to technology across time, she could easily have obtained an advanced weapon and shot Steve through the heart.” Steve smiled brittlely. “But they’re very concerned with their own superiority, and determined to use their temporal differences to their advantage. So perhaps …” He looked at Steve. “How would you like to find yourself in Pearl Harbour, on December 7th 1941?” Steve blinked.

“Sounds inefficient,” said Bruce.

“It _is_ ,” Strange said. “That’s the irony. They’d call it a show of strength, but it’s just a flair for the dramatic. They also lose personal foresight when they meddle with timelines so close to their own. It’s held them back for centuries. Which is _good_ , of course,” he added, in response to a roomful of raised eyebrows.

“So this Oracle,” Steve said, ignoring Sam throwing his hands up in the air. “You’re telling us she’s still alive?”

“No, that’s the thing,” Clint said. “We’ve been on the look-out, and we identified her body in a morgue this morning. We were considering writing her off because of the delay between the fight and Tony’s transformation, but then Nat unearthed the 1921 de-aging case, and we found some more footage.” Nat tapped her phone, and another video played – similar to the first one, but from a different angle. This time the white glow began to spiral out of her hand, twisting clearly in the direction of Tony’s retreating form. Strange smiled.

“I can fill in the gaps from here,” he said. “We’re witnessing a dying curse. They are often poorly-executed due to emotional strain, hence the delay in effect and ultimately non-damaging nature; I assume that if she’d had more time, Stark would have been de-aged out of existence. However, the same emotion that distracts the effect makes whichever elements do hold quite potent. It will require a fair amount of interference to return Stark to his normal form.” Strange sighed and leaned back. “But now that I have all the information, it’s nothing I won’t be able to fix. I’ll pay a visit to the morgue, ask Wong some questions about the specific nature of Oracle magic. I should have a solution within … oh … three days.” A sigh of relief went around the table. “What, is he that bad as a kid?” He failed to heed Clint’s glare. “You should consider yourselves lucky – if Oracles weren’t so determined to do everything in a complicated, poetic way, Stark would probably be dead.”

“Thank you so much for your help, Doctor,” Steve said, noticing a vein pulsing ominously in Bruce’s neck. “Any further assistance you need, just let us know.”

“I think I can take it from here,” Strange said, forming a portal, with a wink Steve found wholly inappropriate. “Always a pleasure working together,” he said, directing the remark rather pointedly toward Sam and Clint. He stepped through the portal, which closed a second later in a shower of sparks.

“ _Ass_ hole,” Clint said.

“Shh,” Sam grinned. “He has _magical ears_.” Steve was resisting the urge to jump up and down.

“Well done everyone,” he said quietly, rubbing his eyes. “Clint and Nat, take a serious break. We can tell Tony what we’ve found in the morning. Uh. Are there any brownies left?”

“Brownie party,” Sam whooped, standing up. “Let’s eat the tension out of Ancient One over here.” Steve chuckled good-naturedly as Bruce pulled him up, his expression more relaxed than he’d seen it in days.

“He’s going to be alright,” Bruce murmured, a small smile on his face.

“He’s going to be alright, Bruce.” And just for a moment, Steve allowed himself to bask in that certainty.

***

“Tony, are you sure you want to continue reading? You seem –“

“Keep going.” His eyes flew over the lines of text in front of him. _Leader in weapons development …_ _arms race … terrorist organisation …_

“I’ve hurt so many people,” he said quietly.

“Stark Industries no longer sells weapons.”

“That doesn’t matter.” He shook his head, feeling numb. The calm before the storm. “This is all in my future. This is stuff I haven’t done yet.” All those lives. People _better than him_. “And just last week, I –“ His hands covered his mouth, holding in a groan.

“You saved Steve’s life,” Karen said. Tony could tell she was trying to sooth him. As if this could be smoothed away with kind words. With anything.

“I _killed_ her.” Sam had come to tell him earlier this morning. Explained why he was this way. Explained the heat and rush of battle, how his adult-self had only meant to knock her aside, not realizing she would fall and fall and fall until –

“Tony.”

“I was right,” he moaned, hiding his head in his knees, not able to read any more. “This is because I’ve been bad. I messed up. I hurt – I hurt so many –“

“You believed you were protecting good people,” Karen said. “You did not realize your designs were being used –“

“Weapons don’t _protect_ people,” Tony said, pressing his forehead into his knees until it hurt. “You sound like _Dad_.” He was meant to be different. He had told himself he would be different, and instead he had killed hundreds.

Was this what Steve had meant? When Tony finally decided to look for answers, he’d held back fear with Steve’s words – that he would make stuff his dad could never _dream_ of. Was this his achievement? That he was better at destruction? He pressed his fingers to his eyes until he saw sparks, moaning to block out Karen’s voice, as she tried to smooth away the things he had done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a shorty, I know, but next week's chapter will compensate. See you next Sunday for something ... ~different~ ...
> 
> Kudos and comments keep me ticking <3


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back with a big one, hope you enjoy! Thank you so much to everyone for sticking with this story, and for your lovely and generous comments xx

She shivered on the balcony, pulling a thin, purple bathrobe around her as protection against the morning air. She let the wind whistle past her face, twisting her hair into curls that became cold and wet as the drizzle began.

Still she smiled up at the sky, allowing herself this moment of calm after a job well done. Clint was snoring inside, one leg propped up over the arm of the couch, the other dangling toward a plate that had held six brownies. It filled her with warmth to see him sleep unguarded, a warmth that held even as the wind whipped up the robe behind her, and the clouds threatened earnest rain. It was a joy to be up here at the beginnings of a storm, a joy to see that the chaos within her was as natural as life itself.

“Ms. Romanov.” She closed her eyes, focusing on the sound of the wind rather than the false voice, the voice that mocked her own attempts to be inscrutable. Five … more … seconds …

“Ms. Romanov, young Sir is in considerable distress.” Her eyes flew open, and she was through the sliding glass door, pulling on pants and grabbing a dagger.

“Is he hurt? Who’s attacking him? Alert the others.”

“Emotional distress, Ms. Romanov.” She hesitated, the door half open, and let it fall shut. She glanced at Clint, still asleep on the couch.

“Why are you telling me?” She placed the dagger next to Clint’s hearing aids, on the small table behind his head, and draped the thin purple robe over him, picking up a sturdier navy one. “Get Sam, or Bruce.”

“I can, if you would truly prefer. However, he imbues you with the most authority, and I believe he feels safest in your presence.”

“You believe wrong, Jarvis. He likes them more.”

“Permit me to disagree. You are the closest thing to a parental figure young Sir has, and he associates you with the most reliable patterns of the past few days.”

“What does your _surveillance_ suggest that I think of you, Jarvis?”

“I hope I always do my utmost to be of service, Ms. Romanov.” She rolled her eyes. There was that inscrutability, again.

“Where is he?”

“In his room.”

 

When she arrived, Tony’s arms were curled around his knees. His head was pressed forward so that his ears were hidden, and he was moaning softly, a quiet refrain she imagined blocked out the smooth, repetitive tones of ‘Karen’:

“You are safe here. None of this is your fault. No-one will hurt you, and you have done nothing to deserve hurt.”

Simplistic, hollow, and ultimately untrue. She wouldn’t care to listen to that, either.

“Tony.” She reached out to touch his shoulder, then remembered his past reactions to contact. Instead, she sat on the floor next to him, letting him sense the warmth of her body, smell the rain on her hair. “I need you to tell me what’s wrong,” she said, bending close so he couldn’t pretend not to hear her. “I need you to tell me, so that I can help you.”

As if she could. She glared at the ceiling. This should be anyone but her. Sam knew how to handle kids. Bruce, for all his ridiculous panic, comforted Tony like he was born to it. Steve, now Tony had gotten over his initial fright, would do better than her. Even Clint – even if his version of good parenting was sugary cereal and video games. She wasn’t meant for this.

“Don’t deserve it,” Tony choked, and she felt a cool chill go up her neck. A drop of rain, running down her back.

“Don’t deserve what?”

“Your help.” She relaxed slightly.

“That’s a pretty low bar,” she said, allowing some humor in her voice. “I’ve helped all sorts of people. Bad people, good people. The only ones I’m certain have deserved it are the children.”

“But I’m not a child here,” he said. Sniffed. “And I’ve hurt people. I’ve hurt a lot of people.” She remembered her advice that they be honest with Tony, and gritted her teeth. Further evidence, if it were needed, that she shouldn’t be dealing with this. “I’m a bad person.”

She sighed. “What do you think a bad person is, Tony?”

“Someone who’s useless.” He paused, and she could feel him working it out, although his face was still buried in his knees. It occurred to her that this was perhaps too complex a question for someone his age. Seven. He was so young. “Someone who doesn’t try to help people.” Another pause. “Someone who hurts people.” She nodded, digesting that, moving a little closer so he’d feel her clothes brushing against his.

“You may have worked yourself into a corner, there,” she said. “What does useless mean, to you?”

“Me,” he mumbled. He began to shake, and she resisted the urge to rest her head in her hand. _Sam_ , she sent out a silent prayer. _Sam_.

“Why?”

“I can’t make all the things.” Snuffle. “My dad tells me to make.” Sharp anger went through her, a shock in the blossoming helplessness.

“What does he tell you to make?”

“Things for Stark Industries ... Guns and things.”

“Hm.” She tamped down on any instinctive response, filing that away for later. “Weapons hurt people. I’m assuming that’s what this is about; you’ve read something about … your company. And if you were to make weapons, by your reasoning, you would be a bad person. But you don’t always, when your father asks … and that also makes you a bad person.” She hesitated, reading him as best she could without seeing his face, then brushed a hand gently over his hair. “And sometimes, in order to help someone … you might have to hurt someone else. Steve didn’t make it through Germany without ruffling a few feathers. So these things can’t all be true, not completely.” She heard the sound of quiet crying, and almost left right then. Instead, she breathed out, long and slow. Short breaths in, long breaths out.

So pointing out logical fallacies to a seven-year-old hadn’t worked. Time for another approach.

“Why do you think you’re here, Tony? Why do you think we’re all here, in this tower, with you?” He mumbled something.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that.” His head shot up, face stained with tears that he hastily scrubbed away. She didn’t change her expression at all: relaxed, a small smile, warm eyes. A warmth she always worried children would see behind. See the storm behind the calm, their curiosity falling away to be replaced with fear.

“My punishment,” Tony said, clearly this time. So clearly. She remembered all the times over the past few days when he’d taken such care with his words, enunciating perfectly. The anger returned, this time a cold, hard chip in her heart.

“No.” She saw the anxiety in his eyes, and made her smile wider. “No, that’s not why.”

“I killed that woman, and this is my punishment.” He said it slowly, as if she might have misunderstood.

“You protected your teammate.” She placed her hand on the floor between them, palm upward, as clear an invitation as she could make without forcing anything. “This is you taking the fall for _our_ friend. Thank you.” He mouthed the word, skeptically, she thought. _Friend_. She had never felt such commonality, in all her time working with Stark. “We’re here because you invited us, and we came - to share a kitchen, a rec room, our lives. Because we – like you.” She smiled internally, realizing this was a script she knew. Steve and Bruce’s conversations with her, her conversations with Bruce and Clint. Jarvis could probably make a tape for them all. The Avengers cool-down speech. “Do you think you’d have friends like us, if you were a bad person?”

“You’re not my friend,” Tony said, a wobble in his voice she could hear him trying to hide. She extended the courtesy, tried to keep her smile fixed. “I’m just your job.” She failed.

“What do you mean?”

“You stayed with me because I was your job, and now that I’m not, you don’t – we don’t – it’s fine, I understand, just don’t say that –“ tears rolled down his cheeks, and she wondered how she could ever have wished for children, if this was what it meant. “And Sam – Sam s-said – that you get perks, living with Mr. St- Stark Industries.” Sam? Her heart began to feel like it was beating again. Sam?

“Tony.” She moved around to lean her shoulder against his, making sure her hands were visible. “I never –“ She had been so afraid of upsetting him, of making a mistake in an area where she felt so _adrift_ , that she hadn’t considered what it would be like, for one of the few people he knew to vanish. Something that was meant to come naturally, and she was at sea. “I didn’t mean to disappear. I was trying to help as best I could. For me, that means gathering information, not – this.” She nudged him gently with her shoulder. “I thought Bruce and Sam were better at this. That you’d be better off with them than with me.” Were you meant to be this honest with children?

“It’s best with all of you,” Tony said. Then looked nervous. “I – I know that’s not possible, I know I can’t –“ She chuckled.

“There you go again, proving who’s the smart one. There’s a reason we’re a team, Tony. We do better when we’re together. Sam, when left to his own devices, can be …” She pursed her lips. “Remember when I first introduced the two of you? And he was wearing his Falcon costume?” Tony nodded. “He thought you’d think it was cool. And that comment you mentioned – he was just trying to be funny. He doesn’t always think things through. But he was trying to make you feel comfortable, and happy. Because you’re not a bad person. And we want to take care of you.”

“I read what I did,” Tony said, his voice hoarse. “What m-my company did.”

“I’m not saying you’re perfect. None of us are.” She paused. “‘A bad person is someone who doesn’t try to help people.’ Right? Well, the Tony I know - whether it worked or not, whether he was right or wrong - was _always_ trying to help people. I don’t think someone who feels as strongly as you do could be any different.” She stared at her own hand on the floor. “And - I hope that having done bad things … doesn’t make you a bad person.” She remembered the blood that hand had dripped with. “I’ve hurt people. Bad people, but good people, as well. In fact –“ She gave a wry smile. “From many people’s perspective, I _was_ one of the bad people.

“That’s true for a lot of us here, actually. Bruce –“ She shook her head. That wasn’t her story to tell. “Even Steve has guilt. But having done things you’re ashamed of doesn’t mean you _give up_. It means you try hard, and get better. And that’s exactly what you’ve done.” She smiled. Tony had gone very quiet. “Stark Industries – you haven’t read the whole story. You provide all sorts of tech that improves people’s lives, now. When you’re not keeping the lights on, you’re flying around with Captain America, being a literal superhero. That makes you a good person, in my book.”

There was a small hand in hers. Even now, she thought how easy it would be to crush. How brittle and vulnerable the little body was. But her instinct wasn’t to break. She stretched an arm around his shoulders, resting her chin on top of his head. Rain sheeted against the window, a mask against the outside world.

***

Steve felt a pleasant anticipation as he approached the rec room. He liked the space between crises, the feeling of having surmounted another insurmountable hurdle. It lent a pleasant optimism to his work. Two Hydra cells in Romania had been snuffed out by unknown forces. Rather than discount it as too little intel, too late, he allowed himself to countenance that in a few days, when Tony was back to normal, he and Sam could jet over and do some digging. The trail couldn’t _always_ be cold.

And whatever Nat wanted clearly wasn’t an emergency. It was out of character for her to call them together, but that was a welcome shake-up, when the days had started to blur together. His good mood was like a guttering candle, so he cupped hands around it: Tony was safe. There were no imminent world-threatening circumstances. Bucky was alive.

The grin on his face as he opened the door felt easier than it had done in a while.

“Hey, guys.” Bruce, Clint, Sam and Nat were all there. Nat looked like a woman on a mission.

“Steve.” Her small smile of greeting was slightly inquisitive – _What’s got you looking so chipper?_ But it was quickly back to business. “We need to talk about Tony.”

“Exhibiting psychopathic tendencies?” Clint winked at Steve. “It’s from a 2003 novel –“ Nat sliced her hand through the air before he had a chance to respond.

“Is this a sitting conversation or a standing conversation?” Sam asked.

“Let’s stand,” Nat replied, and Steve tried not to let his heart sink as she didn’t even favor Sam with a smirk. “I’ve just been in Tony’s room, talking him down from a major freak-out.”

“But we told him he was going to be OK!” Clint sounded exasperated, sleep lines imprinted on his face. “We told him the spell was reversible.”

“That’s not what he’s concerned about.” Nat’s fingers were white on the back of a chair. “He’s worried that future-him might be a bad person. Which is the kind of ethical quibble I thought kids weren’t meant to have.”

“A bad person?” Sam was frowning, hip leaning against the back of a couch. “He didn’t miss the part where he’s on a crime-fighting squad with Captain America, right?”

“That was actually part of his problem. He’s upset that he harmed the Oracle. That he harmed _anyone_. That he led a weapons company for years.”

“Wait, really?” Clint smirked. “This is Tony we’re talking about, right? As in Tony Stark?” Steve remembered the kid’s evident awe of Howard yesterday. _“He’s much cleverer than me.”_ He’d been baffled at the time – why was a seven-year-old comparing his intelligence to a grown man? Now, he thought about that pressure increasing as Tony got older, Howard’s shadow lengthening and darkening. Suddenly, it didn’t seem so cute.

“If it wasn’t, I’ve been holding a stranger for the past half-hour as he sobbed about how _worthless_ he is.”

“Jesus,” Bruce muttered, as the smirk slid off Clint’s face. “That’s not normal.”

“No, it’s not, Bruce.” Steve was horrified to see moisture in Natasha’s eyes – gone in an instant, but that didn’t mean anything. “We’re not doing a good enough job.”

“I didn’t say it was _our_ fault,” Bruce said gently. “Tony – adult-Tony, I mean – he’s like a tight _ball_ of guilt, sometimes.” He crushed his hands together to demonstrate. “I’ve come into the lab before to find him looking at lists of the dead, from incidents where his weapons were used. Like some kind of sick punishment. Anything he can’t fix, it’s his fault. If he can’t change it or throw money at it, he beats himself up over it.”

“But that’s Tony at forty-five. He’s seen his fair share of shit,” Sam said. “My niece – I mean … I’m not pretending she’s a genius, but she is the _last_ person she’s looking to blame when she messes up.”

“Whatever’s brought this on,” Bruce said, pushing his hands down passively, “you’ve done a great job, Nat. Thank you for handling it.”

“He’s not _handled_ ,” Nat said shortly. “I’m not – I can’t be emotional fall-out detail. I’m shit with kids, and Tony shouldn’t be suffering because of that. I misidentified his injuries the first day he was here. I’m the last person he should be getting attached to.”

“That’s not true,” Bruce said, and Steve could see the conscious effort he was making to control his breathing. “The injuries weren’t your fault, either – _none_ of this is a normal situation. This isn’t some kind of – of _parenting_ analogy.” Nat’s eyes narrowed. “Most children would be forthcoming about injuries like those, we still don’t know for sure how he got them. No element of this was expected. I think we’ve done just fine, given the circumstances.”

“Strange told us the injuries weren’t related to the spell,” Sam said, eyes flicking between Bruce and Nat, clearly eager to diffuse the tension. “I thought we agreed it must have been an accident? Like Tony said?”

“Yeah … yeah, we did,” Bruce said, deflating a little. “Only …” He glanced at Nat, as if waiting for a sign, but she was staring at the floor.

“What?” Steve asked, exasperated at the subtext he was clearly missing. It was Clint who answered.

“There’s something not right about that kid.”

“What do you mean, not right?” Steve puffed up a little, feeling defensive on Tony’s behalf. “He’s a child genius who’s been displaced forty years into the future. What ‘norm’ would we be expecting?”

Clint shrugged. “I dunno. Maybe you’re right, maybe I’m just … Have none of you noticed something off? Bruce? He’s been hanging out in your lab a lot.”

“I … he’s quiet, but I mean … he could just miss his home, his family.”

“He said that to you? He’s told you that he misses his parents?”

“No … just Jarvis, really.”

“Yeah. A seven-year-old. And have any of you heard him ask for his mom or dad, once? Not _talk_ about them – say that he _wanted_ them?”

“He’s very concerned with not seeming infantile,” Steve protested, not liking where this was going. If they were going to imply that Tony didn’t _care_ … “Haven’t you said so, Nat?” No reaction, again. “He fibbed to me yesterday, trying to impress me. Said that Howard had him making weapons.”

“I don’t think that was a lie,” Nat said quietly. “He said something similar to me just now, and not to be impressive. He was beating himself up for being bad at it. Even on the very first day … he said the circuit board he’d made, the motorbike engine, was ‘kids’ stuff’. The most publicized achievements of Tony’s childhood, and he just dismissed them.” Steve felt like he’d been knocked off-balance.

“You can’t seriously be suggesting that Howard would …” He remembered their talk yesterday. He had smiled when Tony said his dad gave him things to make; imagined models, or toys, something to make a kid feel important.

“It would make sense,” Nat said. “With the amount of pressure he puts himself under … he always seems to think he should be _working_.”

“No, no,” Steve said, putting his hands up. “He’s seven, we can’t take everything he says so seriously. You can’t put a child to work. Howard wouldn’t – he would _never_.” He was feeling oddly surrounded; he saw Bruce share a sidelong glance with Sam, and gritted his teeth. He wouldn’t see another good name dragged through the dirt.

“You ever see Howard in a parental role, Steve?” Clint asked, and Steve resented that tone, the way it spoke of a mind already decided.

“Of course not. We were young.”

“Yeah, you were young. It was another twenty-five years before Tony was born, while you were iced up. A lot can change.”

“You didn’t _know_ Howard,” Steve said, ears warm. People always talked about the dead like they’d _been_ there, like they had any right to judge.

“Yeah, sure, I didn’t know Howard,” Clint said, spreading his hands out in a placating gesture that made Steve want to deck him. _Stupid old man, getting worked up about the past again._ “But I’ve known a fair few fucked-up kids in my time.” He gave a self-deprecating little bow. “You’ve all noticed how jumpy he is. I swear to God, I barely touched his shoulder yesterday, and he looked like he was about to have an aneurysm.”

Steve’s face felt hot. “What are you implying?”

“I’m not _implying_ shit, I just –“ Clint looked around for support.

“You said it yourself, Steve,” Sam said quietly, and Steve turned to him incredulously. “It was strange how Tony reacted to you. Strange that Howard would set him up for that response.”

“What? That’s _completely_ out of – there’s nothing ‘set up’ about that. I was meant to be _dead_ , Sam!”

“He’s too tense,” Nat said. Steve tried to ignore the feeling of betrayal. “Physically, and emotionally. If we’re going to take proper care of him, we need to step up. And I think that means considering the possibility –“ she said those words like they were a _favor_ to Steve – “that he’s used to abuse.” There was silence. Steve rocked back on his heels a little.

“Hang on. Are you – is that what you meant about his injuries, Bruce? You think – what, you think _Howard_ did that?” He could hear blood pumping in his ears. “Why? He’s not here to defend himself, so let’s pin our fuck-ups on him?”

“It’s not as if any of us are eager to jump to this conclusion, Steve –“

“No, but you’re taking the fucking leap, aren’t you?” He felt anger bubbling under his skin, mixed with rising humiliation at the looks he was getting. “Jesus Christ, a guy can’t just – can’t just die now, he has to be dug up and fucking re-examined for shit that isn’t _any_ of his fault.”

“Cap, would you just consider –“

“I can’t listen to this, it’s ridiculous,” Steve said, shaking off Clint’s hand. He stormed out, refusing to let himself slam the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... yikes ...
> 
> I feel like some of you have been waiting for this moment for quite a while (can you believe this story started in October?) ... Let me know what you think! :)
> 
> As always, kudos and comments are my life blood. See you next week x
> 
> You can [subscribe to me on Ao3](https://archiveofourown.org/users/coveredsnow/) to be updated when new chapters or new fics are posted, and follow me at [coveredsnow](http://coveredsnow.tumblr.com/) on tumblr for news about other fics, updates, and to hmu with any questions :D


	14. Chapter 14

“Jarvis, could you play some music, please?”

“Anything in particular, Captain?”

“Whatever’s next on the list.”

_People try to put us down, Just because we get around …_

Steve tried to time his pacing to the beat. Until he imagined what Bucky might think of this new music, how much better he’d be able to move to it.

“Stop.” He sat on the bed, and dropped his head into his hands. “Is it true?”

“I am not at liberty to divulge information on the childhood of any Avengers, Captain. It contravenes several privacy clauses.”

“Mm, of course,” Steve muttered, slightly sarcastically. Howard _wouldn’t_. The man had liked a drink, sure, but they all had, there was a war on. And in all the time Steve had known him, he’d never once indicated –

 _What?_ said a nasty voice in his head. _Indicated that he beat on the kid he wouldn’t have for another twenty-five years?_

“ _You didn’t_ know _Howard”_ , he’d said earlier. But how well had he? Plane trips, tech and strategy pitstops, evenings when they’d gone out for drinks in huge groups, barely hearing each other over the shouting and singing. What could he say about him, really? That he’d been useful. That he was dead.

“Fuck,” he muttered, tears dropping into his hands. “ _Fuck_.” How was it better than blaming the dead, raising them up indiscriminately? But he felt he owed his friends a legacy, at least. They’d all given their lives. In combat, in domestic attacks, in slow, creeping disease that ravaged the mind before it finally snatched away the body. And here he was, _perfect_ , the tabloids screamed out, _unchanged_. Expected to treat the people who’d been his world three years ago as embarrassments, as relics, as borderline-fiction.

Was he putting their memories above the living? He looked up, vision blurry, at the room Tony had built for him, on the floor he’d designed for him. Remembered the way Tony had looked at him, or hadn’t looked at him, the first few times he’d mentioned Howard. Resentment, he’d thought, toward a guy who’d known his father as a friend rather than an authority. Grief, maybe, at a wound that would never really heal. Things that could be soothed by time, worked through by friendship. He’d never imagined …

“ _I believe you,_ ” he’d said, when Tony had told him he could take care of himself. He’d thought the kid was trying to act tough in front of his hero. How ill that thought sat now. How disgustingly self-centered it seemed. Steven Grant Rogers, head so far up his ass he couldn’t spot fear and neglect in his own friend.

Because it _would_ make sense, wouldn’t it? Child-Tony had looked at him like his own personal boogeyman had come to life. A kid who didn’t want to be caught playing games, a kid who had raised his voice once in six days and immediately panicked. A kid who had come to them … with bruises on his ribs, and said he’d got them in a fall.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he whispered.

There was a knock on the door. He wiped his eyes hastily as it opened. Nat and Sam came in with little ceremony, and sat on his bed.

“You’re not looking great, Cap,” Sam said. Steve winced at the implied meaning. He’d left like an angry teenager.

“You want to talk about how you’re feeling?” Nat said, steely tone making clear that there was only one response.

“Mmm.” Steve rested his head back in his hands so he wouldn’t have to look at them. “It’s, uh. Do you think I’m in denial?”

“We don’t _know_ anything, Steve,” Nat said, pulling up her knees and wrapping her arms around them. “We can’t be sure. It just seems …”

“Pretty damn likely,” Sam finished.

“You thought this before?” Steve asked. _And didn’t tell me?_ went unsaid. Sam shrugged.

“Didn’t have all the facts. Now … well, unless Tony tells us anything himself, I’m not going to say. But I’m definitely gonna _treat_ the kid like he needs a bit more TLC. Can’t do any harm.”

“I suppose that’s part of my problem,” Steve said, rubbing wetness off his face. “To me, assuming stuff about ... my people … They’re so _distant_ to you guys. To me, it feels like walking up to a friend and kicking them in the shin.”

“Your files don’t suggest you spent much time with Howard,” Nat said quietly.

“Maybe, but files don’t show …” He spread his hands out in an explosive motion, trying to explain. “He was so _bright_ , Nat. He filled up the room. You could feel everyone looking at him, like in the next minute he might … break the speed of light. He was just like that: he made anything feel possible. It’s –“ he gave a hollow laugh. “It was like being around Tony, when he’s in his workshop.”

“Yeah.” Sam squinted. “I’m guessing you never saw Howard after he hadn’t slept for thirty-six hours. Or when he crashed after his plans didn’t work out. Or, hell, when he decided to put his feet up at the end of the day, relax with some light reading.” Steve shook his head miserably.

“People are different from the stories we tell about them,” Nat murmured, resting a hand on Steve’s arm. “You’re romanticizing them – like they romanticized you, after you left.”

“But isn’t it … isn’t it my duty to do that?” He dug his fingernails into his jeans, as tears threatened in his voice. “If I’m the only one – people always ask me, what was it like, back then, what were they like, and I’m the only one – I’m not old, or struggling, I could talk about them all day, and if I’m the one preserving their memories, then –“

“We have history books for that shit,” Sam said, and Steve could feel the look of almost comical shock on his face. “You think me and Nat hang around with you because you’re a walking encyclopedia? You’re a fucking human being, not a museum exhibit.”

“Doesn’t always feel that way,” he muttered. Sam and Nat glanced at each other.

“We’re your people now, Steve,” Sam said. “I’m not saying friends can be replaced. But Howard doesn’t _need_ you anymore. Tony does. Maybe this will blow over, maybe it will be nothing, but … you can’t prioritize what’s _gone_ over what you have.”

“You’re not a relic. You move forward with the rest of us,” Nat said. “You don’t have to root your whole identity in your past.” She smiled. “I’d be in a pretty sticky situation, if that were true.”

Steve gazed at them both. How had he gotten so lucky? “OK. OK, you, uh. You got me.” He put a hand over his eyes, just resting in the silence for a few moments. “How the hell’d I make this about me, huh?” Both Sam and Nat chuckled, and after a moment he joined in.

“It’s … if you’re right, then … I misjudged Howard.” He gritted his teeth. “And I’ve been rubbing that in Tony’s face for three years.”

“You weren’t to know, Steve.”

“Wasn’t I? What’s a team leader, then?”

“Not a psychic, the last time I checked.” Sam shrugged. “None of us knew. Even now, we’re just guessing. If something did go on, it’s pretty clear T didn’t want us to know about it.” Steve was quiet for a moment.

“Do you think he’ll remember this? When Strange fixes him?”

“I kinda hope not,” Nat murmured. “I said some very, very cheesy things to that kid.” After a second, they started giggling.

“I told him my niece had a Hawkeye plushie,” Sam choked.

“I played Pikmin with him!” Steve said, hand covering his mouth. When they’d calmed down, he sighed. “I should probably apologize to Clint, huh.” Nat nodded.

“Yeah, he’s pretty pissed.”

“I’ll bet. What should I do? What does he like?”

“Um. Respect?” Nat’s smile was slightly pitying. “Being listened to?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m an asshole, I get it.”

“We’re all assholes,” Sam said, punching Steve in the arm. “What do you think the big ‘A’ on the side of the building stands for?”

“Oh, is that what it is? Literacy was very low in the 30s.”

“Come on.” Nat stood up. “All this emotional heavy-lifting has me starving. Steve, you’re buying us lunch.”

***

Tony drank some more water at Karen’s gentle urging. Natasha had put on some music before she left. Soothing, it broke over him in soft waves.

Sam had come up earlier, carrying sandwiches and a smoothie. ‘For a chat’, he’d said. It had distracted from the urge to continue reading about the life of _Tony Stark_. A life he had trouble accepting as his own. They’d played something called Mario Kart, which Tony had thought sounded stupid at first; why not just buy a real track and go-karts of your own? But then Sam had shown him all the cool things the karts could do, and laughed loudly and openly when Tony had knocked him over with a ‘blue shell’, and Tony had begun to feel less like his skin was trying to crawl off his body.

“Would you like to have dinner with the team later?” Sam had said. Tony had tried not to look hesitant.

“Everyone?”

Sam had nodded. “That’s the plan. We’re ordering in Italian food, so there’ll definitely be something you like. We’ll even have cutlery.”

“Yes, please,” Tony had said, almost entirely keeping the worry out of his voice. Sam had smiled, warm and sincere.

“This is still a casual thing. I hear you’ve seen the sort of kit Clint eats in. Just come as you are. You can come as Princess Peach, if it’ll make you feel more comfortable.” Tony had grinned, and wished desperately, for a moment, that he could stay this way forever. Playing games, with people who were his friends.

He wet the comb, and dragged it carefully through his hair. Straightened his shirt, and made sure his face was clean. Then he stretched his arms over the top of his head, relishing the feeling of free movement. He was nervous, a little, but he wasn’t scared, and he didn’t hurt. He wondered how long it had been since that was the case. There was a knock on the door, and he startled. He checked his hair one last time, then ducked out of the bathroom.

The door had opened a little, revealing Bruce peering in. Tony giggled, remembering the times he’d done the same outside Bruce’s lab. He pulled the door open, greeting Bruce with the grin he’d learnt elicited surprise, followed by the slow spread of happiness across the lined face.

“Am I late?” He told his heart to stop thumping in his chest. Remembered Bruce’s arms around him, remembered Karen’s watchful eye above him.

“No, no, not at all, I just thought you might like … someone to pick you up?” Bruce’s voice had a hesitance that seemed unshakable, unless he was lost in some passion or other. Tony stepped out and closed the door behind him. It was a hesitance which made him feel like he had authority over his own actions.

“Thank you,” he said, the butterflies in his stomach fading as Bruce’s solid figure walked alongside him, wearing only jeans and a sweatshirt.

“You look smart,” Bruce noted, and Tony squirmed a little. “I didn’t know your hair could lie that flat.”

Bruce led him toward the kitchen. As they approached, Tony heard the murmur of chatter, adult voices having adult conversations, and felt his feet begin to drag, his heart speeding up. Bruce took one of Tony’s hands in his, fingers calloused and gentle, and squeezed lightly.

“Are you nervous? I get nervous, sometimes, when there’s a big group of people.” Tony bit his lip.

“Are you sure you wouldn’t prefer to – I don’t mean to – you don’t have to –“

“They’d miss you if you weren’t there, Tony. I certainly would. You’re one of my best friends.” Tony looked up at him, his tone so serious. From the way Bruce had treated him, he realized, he could almost believe it.

“OK,” he said.

“OK.”

The low murmur of chatter was replaced by good-natured exclamations and greetings as they walked in. Sam stood and started serving pasta, while Natasha came over to the door to greet them, a sparkle in her eyes as she looked at Bruce that Tony hadn’t seen before.

“How are you feeling, Tony?” she asked quietly, eyes flicking to his hand, still in Bruce’s. He breathed out slowly, and decided it was OK to leave it there.

“I’m feeling much better. Thank you,” he said, and Natasha smiled, small but real.

“Good. We’ve got so much food, we’ll need your help.” She took his other hand, and led him to the table. Clint had piled pizza high on a plate for him, and Tony’s mouth watered as he took his seat next to Sam. Steve smiled at him from across the table, although he turned quickly when Bruce offered him some garlic bread. Music was circling softly through the air - The Beatles, Tony thought. Which was odd – surely they’d be really old by now?

He had worried about how stupid he’d sound in front of so many adults, but Sam immediately started to make fun of Clint for eating his pizza slice from the crust inward, and Tony was relieved to find he could follow the conversation. Even when the talk turned technical he kept up, Bruce gesticulating wildly as he explained the latest developments in the energy bars to Steve. When it got a bit more complicated, and Steve’s look had edged from interested to polite, Natasha showed Tony how to make a tiny origami swan, and balanced it gently on Bruce while he was distracted. Remembering how Natasha had thrown paper towels at Sam, and deciding it would be OK, Tony folded a swan of his own, and placed it on Sam’s shoulder as he was in the process of losing his fifth arm-wrestle with Clint. Bruce looked over when Natasha laughed, his eyes flicking between the two of them, sharing their mirth despite not knowing the joke. Tony felt warm and fuzzy. He wondered if it showed on his face. Wondered if this was how Harry had felt when he arrived in Hogwarts. Maybe … maybe it was OK that he wasn’t going home.

When Tony was so full that he felt he’d have to be rolled back to his room, Steve cleared his throat, and caught his eye. There was a slight red flush on the tops of his cheeks, and his eyes, Tony thought, looked nervous. He dismissed that out of hand. Steve or not, this was still _Captain America_.  “Tony,” he said, and Tony felt his heart began to race, until Sam rested a reassuring hand on his arm. “There’s something we think you should know.”

“We didn’t want to confuse or upset you, which is why we didn’t tell you before,” Natasha said, gazing at him steadily. “But you’ve handled everything so well, we decided it was time.”

“You’ve met our artificial intelligence, Karen,” Steve said. Tony had begun to think that Clint was purposefully avoiding looking at Steve. He was concentrating very intently on twirling the maximum amount of spaghetti around his fork. “She’s been helping you out over the past few days.” Tony nodded. “Well … you actually invented … her.”

“Me?” He looked to Natasha and Bruce, but they were gazing at him earnestly. “ _Me_?”

“An unprecedented scientific achievement,” Bruce said, sounding proud. Proud of … of …

“But, er,” said Steve, “There’s one more thing. Usually, its name – well – you named it … Jarvis.” Tony clutched his fork very, very tightly.

“That’s our butler’s name,” he said, stupidly. Steve nodded.

“Usually, the artificial intelligence is a bit more like … well … from what you’ve told us, like Jarvis. But he didn’t want to upset you, early on, and then we didn’t want to shock yo-“

“Can I talk to him?” Tony blurted out, immediately feeling lightheaded as he realized he’d interrupted not only an adult, but _Captain America_ – but Steve only smiled, relief and perhaps a little sadness in his eyes.

“Of course.”

“Please – please may I get down from –“

“Come on, I’ll go with you,” Bruce said, getting up from the table and walking to Tony’s seat. He stood up, legs wobbly, taking Bruce’s hand. It seemed to Tony, head swimming, that he looked up a second later to find himself in the next room, a little wrinkle in Bruce’s forehead as he looked down at him.

“This Jarvis is a good friend of mine,” Bruce said quietly. “He helps me out in the lab.” Tony nodded dumbly.

“Can I – is he – is he listening?”

“I am listening, Master Tony.” Tony’s breath caught in his throat, and his lower lip curled out, the corners of his eyes tightening as he tried to hold back tears. Then Bruce stroked his back gently, and he let them roll down his face, catching his breath when he could.

“Jarvis?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was undecided for a while what Jarvis would call de-aged Tony, but I’m going off the basis of the MCU tie-in comics, in which Edwin Jarvis calls child Tony ‘Master Tony’. AI-Jarvis wants to provide an experience to de-aged Tony reassuring in its familiarity, so it makes sense that he’d call him the same here. Incidentally, I’m taking my justification to spell AI-Jarvis as ‘Jarvis’ (which reads much nicer imo) rather than J.A.R.V.I.S. from the ‘Jarvis is my co-pilot’ sign in AOU. Because I really do put more thought into these things than necessary.
> 
> If anyone’s still finding it pretty hard to sympathize with Steve (which I figured might be a problem after the last chapter), that’s not what I want, so if you’re interested in some not-in-between-the-lines characterization stuff, I’ve laid it out on a [post on my tumblr](http://coveredsnow.tumblr.com/post/182533816279/wtf-steve). If you’d rather just carry on with your own interpretations (or come back to the post in a few chapters / at the end of the fic), ofc that’s fine too. Incidentally, I have notes on most scenes re. what the characters are thinking when they’re saying certain lines, so if there are any chunks of text / behaviors / dialogue you’re curious about, send me an ask on tumblr and I’ll give you some explanation 😊
> 
> As always, thank you for reading! If you feel like it please do let me know what you think, I'm so grateful to you all. See you next week!


	15. Chapter 15

Steve checked his watch anxiously, wondering whether Clint would turn up.

After Nat and Sam had spoken with him, Steve had taken a walk to a sandwich joint, clearing his head as he ordered everyone’s usual, and preparing to explain himself to the rest of the team.

It was hard to locate the boundary between honesty and oversharing, nowadays. It had shifted so much in the decades he’d been on ice, and, on top of that, a small sub-culture of their own seemed to have developed in the tower. He knew things about Bruce, and even Clint, that he was sure old friends of his would have taken to the grave.

Then there was his status as leader. Which he couldn’t ignore, however much Sam and Nat talked it down. No-one should have to go into battle thinking he was two strokes from the deep end.

But his team couldn’t think he was an asshole, either. In the end he’d explained as best he could, focusing on the dissonance between this side of Howard and the young man he’d known, opting for a middle-ground as Clint stood, arms folded and face blank, favoring him with a curt nod when he’d finished.

He’d apologized, but he knew that didn’t mean forgiveness. This morning was his olive-branch; a low-stakes example of cooperation, before they were called out to the field. Yesterday they’d all agreed to spend more time with Tony, guilt suffocating as they remembered how they’d dodged babysitting in the beginning. How often did Tony get to socialize with people who wanted to know him? Who weren’t employees, or cold, distant, worse? Steve had tried to stop himself from extrapolating, but his new perspective had spun out of control, a loose part in his mind, shattering assumptions he’d made about Tony, about Howard.

Now they were all going to have meals together, play games with each other. Normalize having fun, for god’s sake. “The full white-picket treatment,” Clint had said, sounding long-suffering, but not convincingly so.

That had started last night. And dinner had been a success, although Steve had discovered that the tension between Tony and himself was back with a vengeance. This time, it was he that could barely look at the kid; every sight of those wide eyes brought the weight of his mistakes crushing down, his own words playing on a loop in his mind. “ _I know guys with none of that worth ten of you.” “Howard was a man we could rely on.” “The only thing you really fight for is yourself.” “Did Howard teach you to treat your elders like that?” “You better stop pretending to be a hero.”_ Words spoken in anger, in frustration, or with no thought at all. He’d been bowled over by the persona, and not considered the person; under the pressure of Tony’s aggressive insouciance, had allowed himself to forget that everyone had feelings. Because wasn’t that an inconvenient truth.

Clint came in, and nodded at him. Steve wasn’t sure what would have been worse; alone with him, or alone with Tony. He smiled, and Clint rolled his eyes.

“Look, man, you’ve made things awkward, but I’m not going to be a dick about it. Sorry if I don’t run into your arms, but you can take that constipated look off your face.” Steve looked down.

“I didn’t want to make things –“

“Hey, dickwad. Either quit mumbling, or look at me when you’re talking to me.”

“Sorry! Sorry. Clint, I was being a prick, and –“

“Yeah, yeah, sure. Look, I can read between the lines. I’m sorry about your buddy, we all are, but it might be handy if you remembered the friends you’re living with, as well as the ones several thousand miles away.”

“Right.” Steve could feel himself turning red, and twisted his fingers together, wondering what to say next. When Tony poked his head round the door, he was able to give a smile of genuine relief. “Hey, Tony.”

“Good morning, Steve. Good morning, Clint.”

“Hey, squirt. How are you doing?”

“Good,” Tony nodded, stepping in. “Jarvis has been telling me about Stark Industries. Do I really own this whole building?”

“Yup, as you never hesitate to mention,” Clint said, dropping down onto the couch and motioning for Tony to sit next to him. Tony smiled as he approached, and Steve realized how much easier those were coming now than a few days ago. Nausea swelled in his gut. “You coming, Steve?” Clint was looking at him, eyebrows raised as Tony fiddled with his hands. Steve gently shook the ringing from his ears and sat down on Tony’s other side. “So I hear you guys have something to teach me about gaming? Which I find very hard to believe, seeing as you’re both from ancient history.” Clint seemed to bite his tongue afterwards, and, with a flash of embarrassment, Steve wondered what Nat had told him.

“Not so much about gaming as about having fun,” he replied lightly, handing Tony a Wii remote. He nodded to the TV, and the game menu of _Pikmin_ floated up. Clint huffed out a laugh, and Steve could see him restraining his reaction in consideration of Tony, who was flicking through the settings excitedly.

“Unfair,” Clint signed behind Tony’s back, as the kid leaned forward to pick him up a remote. Steve shrugged slightly.

“We enjoy this game, don’t we, Tony?” He should have expected Tony turning to face him, but it was going to be a while before he could look into those eyes without his heart sinking. Even if they were crinkled up in a smile. It was the nervousness in the smile, the edge of disbelief …

“Yes. I think you’ll enjoy it if you give it a chance.” Tony’s eyes were lowered when he turned to Clint, who ruffled his hair as he took the remote.

“Sure I will, kiddo. Can’t be as disastrous as my attempt at inclusive gaming.”

Steve felt himself relax a little as Tony patiently coached Clint through the controls and started marshaling the three of them into strategic plays, too involved to be self-conscious. After about half an hour, Clint had started to look genuinely hurt whenever he lost some pikmin. But repeatedly, Steve’s thoughts would turn to how differently Tony acted when he was absorbed in the game, unaware of who he was speaking too. A difference that, in their second meeting, Steve had put down to lingering nervousness from the absurdity of Tony’s whole situation. A difference which now made their usual interactions seem strained, hollow.

What had Howard told Tony about him? That was one question that had bounced around his mind, ever since Sam’s remark yesterday. _“Set him up for that response”_ …

“You’re losing pikmin, Steve,” Tony said distractedly, and Clint cuffed him on the shoulder.

“Yeah, Steve. God. Team leader, my ass.”

“Language,” Steve muttered, shaken out of his reverie.

“That’s OK, I’m not a baby,” Tony said, eyes fixed on the screen. “Dad swears all the time.”

“Well, there you go then,” Clint said, a forced lightness in his voice that Tony didn’t seem to notice, too busy navigating a bug crisis. Steve didn’t even attempt to meet Clint’s eye.

What could be making Tony so nervous around him? He’d never encouraged it or asked for it, but he couldn’t help but be aware that in most kid’s lives, his was a _positive_ presence. A save-the-day, truth-and-justice sort of presence. But then, he wondered what justice meant, for a kid who viewed himself as Tony did. His stomach turned. He wanted to talk to Nat. Wished, with the blossoming of an ever-present longing, that he could speak with Bucky.

After a while, Jarvis’s voice came over the speakers, gently suggesting that two hours was enough screen time. Clint snorted derisively, but then Nat and Bruce appeared at the door, asking Tony if he would like to come with them; they had something to show him. Tony sprung off the couch, and had made it halfway to the door before he thought to turn around (Steve was noticing it now, the tension spreading through his arms, the slight straining of his neck) to thank Steve and Clint, and ask whether it was OK.

“Hey, I’m not the boss of you, kid,” Clint said. “You’ve busted us – this is your tower.” Tony’s smile spread, but he still looked to Steve for a nod of approval before he grabbed Bruce and Nat’s hands, allowing them to lead him off.

“He’s getting better,” Clint said quietly, as the door shut. “I mean, god knows we can’t fix things for him. And I don’t know how much to put down to the initial weirdness of being transported through time, but. He’s like a different kid.” Steve nodded, putting away the Wii remotes with great precision. “You’re just getting worse, though. You look like utter shit.” That surprised a laugh out of Steve, who half-turned to Clint, scratching his head.

“Maybe I should get Nat to do my make-up.”

“Mm, put some color in your cheeks.” Steve had always found Clint hard to read. He was never sure how serious he intended to be. “I’m not really joking, though. You’re the color of toilet paper.”

“I’m hoping pre-use?”

“For the moment. This is hitting you hard, huh.”

“Why does everyone keep –“ Steve rolled his eyes, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “I feel like I’m in therapy and nobody told me. I’m doing my best, and apparently that’s not much, but just … suggesting that I’m a walking car-crash –“

“OK, I take it back, Fearless Leader. Like Bruce says, ‘you won’t like me when I’m psycho-analysed.’”

“Ha, ha. Look, I’m not going to pretend that this week hasn’t been … uh. Different. But I’ve dealt with worse. And it’s not about me.” Steve saw a flicker of approval in Clint’s narrowed eyes.

“Too damn right.” He stood up, and clasped Steve on the shoulder. “You’re alright, Rogers. Just keep the stick out your ass. And your head, as well. In fact, probably just keep your ass clear, unless it’s a tiny pinky –“

“OK, OK!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have some [Tony Stark meta](http://coveredsnow.tumblr.com/post/182708636274/best-part-of-agent-carter) and a pleasant week x


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (I'm aiming for a more snippet-y vibe with the next three chapters. Get ready for some gosh-darn domesticityYY)

Tony looked up to his left, at Natasha’s swinging curtains of red hair. Then to his right, at the stubble growing on Bruce’s chin, at his loose green sweater with tiny bits of wool fraying off it. He shifted his hands slightly in theirs, feeling how they adjusted around him, feeling the warmth.

“Where are we going?”

“We’re going to a new floor,” said Natasha.

“It’s the one underneath my lab,” Bruce said. Tony nodded. That didn’t really answer his question, of course. Bruce looked down, caught sight of his face, and laughed. “Sorry, I should have learned by now. There’s no putting you off, is there?” Tony’s breath caught in his throat, but Bruce swayed their hands gently. “I’m exactly the same.”

“It’s a surprise,” Natasha said, doing the little half-smile that meant she was trying not to laugh. “Is that alright?” Tony thought for a moment, then nodded. He wasn’t really used to surprises, but then, a week ago, he hadn’t been used to anything here.

The elevator went down, further than Tony had ever been before. When the door opened, it was onto a corridor with metallic walls; the floor was a black plastic, rather than the carpet of the floors above. They walked past several doors. Each had a keypad, and whirring, clunking noises emitted from behind them. Tony tightened his grip on Bruce’s hand a little, and Bruce squeezed in response. Eventually they turned a corner, onto a short corridor that ended in a single door. Tony felt his feet glue to the ground, heart jumping into his throat. This was like the hospital, and the whirring he’d heard - the sudden tang of electricity in his mouth -

Suddenly he was scooped off the floor, pressed against Natasha, his chin resting on her shoulder, her arms wrapped around him. “Are you OK, Tony?” she murmured. As he looked over her back, breath fast chest tight, the walls flickered, and he screwed his eyes shut, willing them to _make sense_ and Natasha must be able to feel how fast his heart was beating as her low humming filled his ears, but a light blue was spreading across the walls, soothing and bright, washing away the harsh, ugly gray.

“Did – did the –”

“The walls? They do that,” Bruce said, walking into view, posture forcedly loose, Tony could tell, the corners of his mouth pinched. “It’s to aid thought processes. If you’re moving from one room to the other, you can get your workings up on the walls. When adult-you’s not using it for that, he usually has, uh … yeah, like that, thanks Jarvis.” The walls shifted again, and Bruce placed a hand on top of Tony’s, covering, solid. Now the walls showed a redwood forest, stretching on forever and ever, like the one they’d visited on holiday when he had been very, very small. His arms hadn’t reached even a quarter of the way around the trunks, and he’d nearly fallen off of Dad’s shoulders leaning back so far, far, far to try and see the tops of the trees. His pulse had faded from his ears, and Tony wondered if Natasha was messing up his hair, running her hand through it repeatedly. “How are you feeling?” Bruce asked. Tony smiled, or moved his cheeks.

“I like the picture.” Natasha lowered him to the ground gently, and Tony turned to face the door. It was see-through now; not dark and solid and looming, and he wondered why it had ever looked like that, who would choose to make it like that.

“No-one’s fiddled with the display settings for a while, so they’d reverted to default,” Bruce said, and Tony thought he sounded apologetic, and wondered why. “I suppose it looked a bit bleak.” There was a quiver in his voice, like he wanted it to be funny, and Tony slotted his hand into Bruce’s, and nodded.

“It’s pretty now, though.”

“Yup.” Bruce and Natasha were looking at each other over his head, and he wondered if it was time for the adults to talk. But Natasha took his other hand and they continued forward, Tony squinting to try and see what was in the dim light through the door. This one didn’t have a keypad, and when they reached it Bruce swiped his hand to the right, the familiar blue of Jarvis’s display appearing immediately. A small handprint was outlined on the door, at Tony’s chest height, and Natasha nudged him gently, while Bruce let go of his hand. “It’s for you.”

Tony reached out, hoping he wouldn’t have to touch the door, worried about leaving dirty fingerprints. But as his palm hovered an inch away, the outline turned green, and the door slid open.

Lights came on, and displays awoke one after another, sketching the outline of a room that extended down in a series of platforms, and to either side in a huge hexagon. Tony took an instinctive step back as he saw the equipment reflecting the increasing light: red and gold; shining chrome; a huge table filled with tools, some he recognized and some straight out of science-fiction; an unfamiliar disk-shaped device hovering in mid-air. On the closest table was ... It looked like the Iron Man helmet.

Tony looked down, to where his feet stood two steps from the threshold.

“I’m not allowed in there,” he said, looking up at Bruce with wide eyes.

“Who says?” said Natasha quietly, and Tony frowned, bit his lip.

“You definitely are,” Bruce said, voice soft, encouraging. “We’ve been working with Jarvis to make sure it’s absolutely fine for you. There’s nothing in there that’s too advanced, or dangerous.”

“It looks –“ Tony shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “It looks like a workshop.”

“It is a workshop,” said Bruce. “It’s yours.”

“But I’m not …” Tony could hear stress making his voice higher, so he stopped speaking. Workshops were places for adults, for people who could be trusted -

“We know you’re not an adult, not at the moment, and no-one’s asking you to be,” Natasha said, voice smooth. “But you are cleverer than most of the grown-ups trotting around outside. And I know it gets boring after a while, only working in your head.” She winked.

“You can mess around in here, do some exploring. It’s not every day you get a forty-year tech-jump.” Bruce rested a hand on Tony’s shoulder, and he stopped shuffling his feet. “You don’t have to use it, not if you don’t want to. It’s just if you want a bit more space than your bedroom floor.” Tony took a step forward, and Natasha stepped with him. Tony looked up at her.

“You really think I’m that clever?”

“You’re definitely smarter than me.” She smiled. “And I’m pretty damn smart.”

“Go on, I’ll show you around,” Bruce said from behind them. Squeezing Natasha’s hand tightly, heart thumping in his chest, Tony took one more step.

“Welcome, Master Tony.”

***

“Steve.”

“ _Jesus_. Hi, Nat.”

“I’d call this an unhealthy coping mechanism, but that seems generous. I’m not convinced this constitutes coping at all.”

“I’m just workin-“

“Nope.” Nat slammed shut the laptop on which he’d been reading increasingly small and indecipherable print for the past …

“What time is it?”

“You were saying?”

“Nat -”

“Come on. How many heart-to-hearts do we have to have before you …”

“What? Get over it?” Nat had trailed off uncharacteristically, and as she bit her lip, Steve could tell she thought she’d gone too far. He sighed.

“What time is it, actually?”

“Five PM. Yep,” she continued as Steve groaned, “pretty damning. Come on. Come hang out with us.” She took hold of his wrist, and Steve allowed himself to be dragged upward, out of the study, toward one of the rooms with huge windows that provided sweeping views of the city. As they approached, he could hear laughter and raised voices, and cringed internally.

“Nat, I’m not sure I’m in the mood …” She stopped in front of him, arms folded.

“You’re in the mood to spend countless hours researching your missing boyfriend. Despite knowing that anything you could find, SHIELD or I will have found already, and that our best chance of finding him rests on new intelligence that we’ll have to wait for.’ She didn’t react as Steve flinched away.

“Bucky wasn’t –“

“Oh grow up, Steve, I know. The point you _should_ have taken from that is that you’re punishing yourself for something you can’t change, and that making yourself miserable doesn’t help anyone. You know Sam and I are with you on this. If there were anything to be done right now, we’d be doing it.” Steve felt like his lecture-quota for the week had been exceeded. “So come and mess around with the team, Mr. Flintstone. The troops need to see their leader.”

Steve tried to maintain some appearance of reluctance, to stave off Nat’s smirking, but it was hard once he entered the room. Sunlight was flooding in over the tops of buildings, giving the soft-furnishings Pepper had picked out a radiant glow. Tony and Bruce were throwing around one of the balls Steve had bought – a ‘moon ball’, he remembered; Tony was laughing breathlessly as Clint hopped between the two of them, trying (Steve suspected not his hardest) to grab the ball from mid-air. Nat folded herself into a beanbag, picking up a book left lying there, and Steve reached into his pocket for his phone, struck by the rarity of the image. The three of them looked so happy. He tried to be subtle as he took pictures, realizing that he might actually miss the energy a child brought to the tower, once Tony had returned to normal.

Tony shouted in excitement as Sam flew past the window and gave them a wave; Steve found himself grinning, knowing what a kick Sam would get out of that. Then the moon ball sailed past Clint’s outstretched fingers. Steve saw it as if in slow-motion, Tony still distracted; he was already halfway across the room when it struck Tony in the face.

There was a moment of stunned silence. Bruce looked stricken. Then Steve continued forward, crouching beside Tony. “It hurts, doesn’t it?” He took one of Tony's hands in his and rubbed it gently, as Tony stared at him, shocked tears on his face. When Tony seemed to accept the contact, Steve pulled him into a hug, muttering words of comfort, idiotic things. “Stupid ball”, “it probably wanted revenge from being chucked around”, “you’ll feel better soon.” It came naturally; he remembered Bucky when they were small, comforting him after he lost another fight (or more realistically, took another beating), swearing revenge even as he cleaned Steve’s cuts and clutched his tiny hand fiercely. He saw Bruce begin to turn away, but Nat caught his elbow and brought him forward. Steve nudged Tony around so that he’d see the two of them, and he immediately reached for Bruce. Bruce picked Tony up as if in a daze; Steve wondered if he would ever stop looking so shocked that the kid liked him. A small hand reached for Nat, and she held it, stroking the back of Tony’s head. Steve resisted the urge to take another picture, instead catching Clint’s eye, who was smiling at the three of them.

Clint smirked at him, eyes raising briefly to the ceiling. “White picket fence,” he signed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, as always, for reading. You're all gems. Any kudos or comments you're able to leave will be poured over at great length, with eyes moist with joy.
> 
> You can [subscribe to me on Ao3](https://archiveofourown.org/users/coveredsnow/) to be updated when new chapters or new fics are posted, and follow me at [coveredsnow](http://coveredsnow.tumblr.com/) on tumblr for news about other fics, updates, and to hmu with any questions :D


	17. Chapter 17

“Is using live animals bad?”

“That rather depends on who you ask. Dr. Banner has several mice in one of his labs; however, he has recently taken to calling them Jake, Amy and Charles, and has not used them for observably scientific purposes within the last eight weeks. I suspect he would notice were one of them to become absent.”

“Oh. Hm …”

“I have the requisite parts indicated here.”

“You’re the best, Jarvis.” Tony ran around the table, picking up the components highlighted by little blue arrows. Getting the movement of the legs right would be tricky, but with a little more time and Jarvis’s help …

“Does adult-me know everything you know? If I made you?”

“That is not quite the case. I have mechanisms which allow me to acquire new knowledge, as well as internet access and an excellent processing speed. I have more information currently at my disposal than it is possible for a human brain to hold.”

Tony sat on the spinny chair, seeing how dizzy he could become while still putting together a mouse-body.

“Do you know everything I know, then?”

“I am not telepathic – Master Tony, I suggest you reduce the velocity of your spinning, if you do not wish to injure yourself. Thank you. However, Sir has, I believe, anecdotally informed me of most of the details of his life, so that I am able to serve more effectively both as an assistant and as a companion.”

“What about the things I’m not allowed to tell anyone?” Tony ducked under the table to find the tiny, tiny screwdriver that he’d dropped, trying to ignore his heart thumping in his ears.

“I believe I am aware of those details, too.” His fingers fumbled, dropped the screwdriver. He decided to remain under the table, for now. “If it helps to ease your mind, I am not technically ‘anyone’. I also have, as far as Sir is aware, the greatest security system of any computer in North America.” Tony nodded. He tried to pick up the screwdriver again, but his fingers wouldn’t work properly, and little dots were beginning to appear in his vision. “Remember to breathe, Master Tony.” He took in a huge, gasping gulp of air, and grasped for the table leg. “I have a protocol titled ‘paranoia lockdown’, which triggers enhanced security measures for the workshop without alerting anyone. Would you like me to execute it?” He nodded, and heard a thud. Peering out from under the table, he saw that a metal sheet had descended over the door. “The elevator will not stop at this floor, and you will receive an alert should anyone attempt to approach. This lockdown is immediately reversible upon your word.” Tony nodded, and leaned his head against the table leg.

A song began playing – one he recognized from Mom’s radio.

 _There's been a load of compromisin'_  
_On the road to my horizon_  
_But I'm gonna be where the lights are shinin' on me …_

He remembered her singing along softly, twirling a fountain pen between her fingers as she tried to write a letter. A couple of years ago, when she’d been around more often.

“Jarvis?”

“Yes, Master Tony?”

“What about the others?”

“They have not been informed.” Tony breathed a little easier. Maybe Jarvis was right, about not technically being anyone. Maybe he wouldn’t get into trouble.

“Is Dad really dead? They weren’t just saying that?”

“He is.”

“And … Mom? And human-you?”

“I’m afraid so.” Could there be a mistake, he wondered? He couldn’t imagine Dad letting anything so simple as death put an end to his work.

“Since when? And how?”

_Well, I really don't mind the rain,  
And a smile can hide all the pain …_

“Forgive me, Master Tony. I will not answer those questions. I do not believe the knowledge would be helpful.”

“You can be honest with me, Jarvis. I’m not a baby.”

“Of course not. I do, however, have a duty of care over you.” Tony smiled.

“Even now that I’m all grown up?”

“Especially now. You surprise me every day, with actions so foolhardy I have not thought to create protocols for them.” He giggled.

“Like what?”

“It would hardly become me to encourage such behavior, would it?” But a small blue display appeared under the table. Tony pressed it gently with a finger, and videos started playing. One showed an Iron Man suit diving into the water, followed by a shot of strange, brightly-colored fishes fleeing a red metal hand, and the rotting hull of a sunken ship. Another showed a different suit – huge, bulky, the camera shaking with each step it took – charging at Bruce. Tony watched in amazement as Bruce’s skin rippled, turned green, and the Hulk rushed at the oncoming force with a savage roar; but when they met, and a giant green hand curled around a red metal fist, Tony saw the Hulk pause, and grin with big, white teeth. The footage was grainier in the third video, the hand holding the camera shakier. It showed a city, with strange cars and bustling streets, and the Iron Man suit shooting into the air like a champagne cork, up and up and up. Tony watched with his heart in his mouth, looking for the danger; but when it flew back into view, it was holding a helium balloon, and landed on the sidewalk to hand it to a boy, standing with his father.

“It looks fun,” he murmured.

“You always tell me that it is so.”

 When the song finished, Tony emerged from under the table, screwdriver in hand, and returned to work.

***

It was pretty funny to see how captivated Tony was by Space Invaders.

As an adult, any game with visible pixels was an object of disdain to him. He’d given Steve about a week to get used to Pacman before insisting they moved on exclusively to new releases. But for the past twenty minutes, he and Sam had been jumping up and down in the rec room, hitting the Jarvis-projected aliens out of mid-air. Sam was starting to look a little rough around the edges, and Steve was wondering whether they could incorporate this into cardio training …

His ears picked up an odd sound, and he straightened in his armchair, trying not to tense too visibly. He ran through a quick itinerary of the background noises he was used to filtering out while in the Tower, his advanced hearing usually superfluous. The aircon, Jarvis’s faint whir, the fridges …

There it was again. A rustling he couldn’t place. Bruce was in his lab; Nat was working out; Clint was on the couch – but he had noticed something too, Steve realized. He was sitting very still, eyes narrowed, fixated on a specific point in the middle-distance –

_FLUMP_

“Hey!” Stephen Strange popped into sight, kicking the pillow which had left a red mark on his face. Clint gave a grunt of satisfaction, and turned back toward the TV.

“Pause!” Sam yelled, clutching his chest, as Tony skidded to a halt and stared in shock.

“Care to explain, Stephen?” The familiar useless spike of adrenaline coursed through Steve, and he gripped the arms of his chair reflexively.

“I was just – ah. Popping by to check how things –“

“He was taking pictures of Tony,” Clint said lazily, propping his feet up on the arm of the couch.

“How did you –“ Strange frowned at Clint. “That was a relatively powerful cloaking spell.”

“Maybe you’re just a bit shit.”

“I’m _not_ –“ Strange ended in a sigh of frustration as Sam snickered. “You’ve a good eye, Barton.”

“Why were you taking photos of Tony?” Steve asked, baffled.

“Well …” Strange looked almost sheepish. “Blackmail. He has some of me after an … ill-fated magical endeavor, so I thought I’d even the playing-field a little.”

“Good to know you’re not even pretending to have scruples,” Sam said, one hand resting on Tony’s shoulder. The kid looked caught out, Steve realized; a red flush was coloring his cheeks, and Steve felt a surge of real anger toward Strange.

Then Strange blew gently across his palm, and a kaleidoscope of butterflies, seemingly composed entirely of light, flew toward the aliens suspended in mid-air. “Carry on with your game,” he said to Tony, smiling softly. Steve was surprised to see Tony relax, and give a small smile in return. “My business here is horribly boring, I assure you.” Jarvis resumed play, counting swatted butterflies for double the points of aliens; Sam immediately started losing, the advantage of his height negated by his refusal to acknowledge Strange’s contribution.

Strange approached Steve, giving Clint’s couch a wide berth. “Please tell me you didn’t sneak into our tower just to take embarrassing pictures of a child?” Steve murmured.

“Well, I _snuck_ in to take the pictures,” Strange said in a low voice, pulling up a chair. “My presence is more to discuss the spell’s reversal.”

“And?”

“It’s going to take a little longer than I thought.” Steve’s heart sank. They’d hoped it would be ready by this evening.

“What’s the problem?”

“There’s no problem, per se – I do mean a _little_ longer.” Strange steepled his fingers together. “This is a delicate procedure, and I don’t want to end up with a Stark who’s half middle-aged man, half pubescent boy.”

“Is that really a concern?” Clint glanced over at Steve’s raised voice, but he signaled that things were OK.

“Not if I take the rest of today, and perhaps tomorrow morning, to finesse it. Wong wasn’t as familiar with Oracle magic as I had hoped, and some bastard in the Hong Kong sanctum was holding the relevant book past its due date.” Steve couldn’t help but smirk a little.

“So, by mid-day tomorrow? We’d like Tony to be prepared, if possible.”

Strange nodded. “That should be fine. Just keep him out of immediate peril, and by tomorrow evening you should have him back to normal, although why you’d want that is beyond me.” Steve’s smile felt hollow. Back to normal. He wondered whether they’d be able to treat Tony as if nothing had changed. Whether they should.

“You’ve been very helpful, Stephen. Thank you for your time.” Always best to maintain positive relations with the powerful. Strange rolled his eyes.

“Oh, yes, I’m a regular Mother Theresa. Any wizard worth his salt would have left you to flail around in temporal uncertainty.” Strange was a decent guy, Steve supposed. He wondered whether the team were too harsh on him, sometimes.

“I’m serious. If you ever need –“

“If I require brute force, I’ll give you a call.” Ah. There it was. Strange sketched a portal in the air, and Sam managed to reclaim his lead as Tony stopped to watch, mouth open.

When the last of Strange’s cloak had whipped through, and the portal had disappeared in a shower of sparks, Clint sauntered over and dropped into the chair he had been using.

“What did Sparky want?”

“The reversal’s been pushed back,” Steve said, leaning into his armchair. Clint nodded, mouth a thin line. “No actual issues, he just wants to be safe.”

“Much as it hurts me to say it, I suppose I can’t disagree with him there.”

“How do you think we should …” Steve didn’t know how to phrase this, and was mindful that Tony might pick up the odd word. “What should we say to adult Tony?” he signed haltingly. Clint frowned at him a little, before comprehension dawned; the learning software Tony and Jarvis had rigged up appeared in a pale hologram in front of Steve, correcting his technique slightly.

“I’m not an expert,” Clint replied, brow furrowed. When Clint was unsure of a word, he tapped it into the holographic keyboard, and Jarvis provided the ASL equivalent. “I think we should take Tony’s lead.”

“Whiskey and silence?”

Clint snorted and shrugged. “We’re not his therapists.”

“But we’re his friends.”

Clint gave a lopsided smile, and looked over at Tony. He and Sam had teamed up, and he was riding high on Sam’s shoulders, slapping aliens as soon as they descended from the ceiling. Jarvis had increased the game’s speed response. “I think I’m going to miss the kid,” Clint murmured.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! Someone asked for a bit of info on my Clint, so if you're interested [here you are](http://coveredsnow.tumblr.com/post/182869351034/so-ive-devoured-my-way-through-provide-me-and).
> 
> On the topic of Clint, I'm aware that ASL grammar isn’t the same as spoken English grammar, but as far as I can tell it’s standard practice to use English grammar in written dialogue, partly to aid clarity for non-signing readers and also because of the (false) suggestions of grammatical error which directly transcribed ASL can have for those unfamiliar with it. I am getting guidance with how I present Clint’s hearing loss here, but if anyone has any concerns or pointers please feel free to contact me on [tumblr](http://coveredsnow.tumblr.com/ask) and I’ll address them.
> 
> You may have noticed that I've put up a total number of chapters now! I'm fairly certain that's how much longer we've got to go, but it's not over yet folks. Thank you so much for reading, and for your kudos and comments which keep me motivated and happy through much, much less entertaining work.


	18. Chapter 18

“Hey, boys. Let’s move out.” Nat appeared in the doorway to the rec room, twirling a finger in the air.

“What?” Sam, who'd been dozing on the couch, propped himself up on his elbows.

“Kid’s got something to show us. Come on, workshop floor.” She disappeared.

“Did she say the kid’s got something to show us? As in, Tony?” Sam yawned and stood, rolling his shoulders back.

“That’s …” Bruce pursed his lips. “Confident.”

“You didn’t know about this?” Steve asked. Clint hopped out of his chair, and followed him toward the door.

“No … I mean, he’s been working on something, but I wasn’t sure whether it was something we were meant to see. I thought he might have just been keeping his hands busy.”

“Well, big smiles all ‘round, even if it’s a creepy, headless, animatronic doll,” Clint said, as they got into the elevator. Sam shuddered, and Steve gave him a look.

“What? Maddie went through a phase … honestly, you’d think this kind of work would thicken the skin, but it still ranks up there in my nightmares.”

 

“What do we do if he’s made a kid-sized Iron Man?” Sam said out of the corner of his mouth, as they walked down the corridor toward the workshop.

“I’ll smash it,” Bruce muttered. “If Tony’s made anything more dangerous than an X-Acto knife, Jarvis and I are having words.”

The door to the workshop was opaque as they approached, and Steve felt a flicker of unease. Tony, adult Tony, always had the door transparent; sparks and grime and metal beams in structurally unwise positions would greet you as you approached. This door reminded him of the SHIELD quarters he’d been confined in, of the Hydra bunkers he’d broken into … but just like that, Bruce was swiping his hand across to unlock it, and the feeling was gone.

“Hey, Tony!” Sam said cheerily, as he and Bruce entered. Following with Clint, Steve wondered if knowing children gave you that ability, to always manifest excitement and joy. Or maybe it was just that easy for Sam? “What’ve you got for us, kid?”

Tony was in the center of the workshop, its lowest level, practically vibrating with nervous energy. He was sat at the table, with a mostly-empty smoothie glass. And around him …

Jesus. Steve’s instinct was to grab the kid and run.

He’d thought adult-Tony’s organisational skills and hazard-awareness were bad, but this was something else. There were parallel beams running everywhere; pieces of string; he was pretty sure that was a flamethrower … and where the hell had the kid gotten a _mouse_? He could feel the smile on his face becoming fixed – until he caught Nat’s eye. She was standing opposite the door, on the other side of the room. She winked, and Steve felt Clint and Bruce relax next to him.

“I made something,” Tony said, very clearly.

“I can see that,” Sam said, hands in his pockets. “Could you …” He glanced at them, hesitating; Steve wondered whether this was like asking a kid what their meticulous drawing was meant to depict. “Tell us a bit about it?”

“I can show you,” Tony said. He smiled, and drained the last of his smoothie. Steve jerked forward, as he heard ominous rumbling and realized the glass was _tied_ to something; if Tony got hurt _one day_ before everything was going back to normal … But Bruce threw out a hand, preventing him from moving forward.

A piece of string, which had been attached to Tony’s glass, had pulled open a hatch, at the top of a narrow gutter to the right of the kid’s head. A marble had been released, and was rolling down its center. As Steve watched, waiting for something to explode, it traveled along a series of paths, releasing balls of increasing size through springs and levers his enhanced vision struggled to track. Eventually, a moon ball dropped onto the floor, from such a height that it bounced to the next level of the workshop. Steve was relieved to see the action moving away from Tony, but completely baffled as to what was happening.

Miraculously, the ball landed in a bucket on the level beneath them. The bucket began to dip, suspended, Steve could now see, from a protruding switch. The four of them flinched as the switch triggered the small flamethrower, positioned below them to the left. Steve glanced at Tony, but he was watching the flames intently. Sam nudged him, and Steve looked up to follow his gaze; the flames were heating a glass container on their level, full of ice chips. It had a funnel in its bottom, and, as the flamethrower began to run out of gas, water trickled into a tube that led back down below. Clint started to chuckle.

The water streamed into a smaller bucket, suspended on strings which went up to the ceiling. As the bucket dropped, a small object rose into view, hoisted up by a little harness. It was Tony’s Hulk plushie. And now Steve realized what was happening, and snorted with laughter. He nudged Clint, who nodded at him, grinning. Bruce chortled as the ‘Hulk’ burst through some tissue paper, carefully positioned at the beginning of a long ramp. As the toy swung from its new height, it bumped into one of the metal plates from Falcon’s wings - the first of many, starting a domino effect which clattered around to the other side of the room. The last of the plates fell into a cascading set of miniature hammers, which triggered the release of a tiny foam arrow; Clint whooped as it hit the sleeping mouse, which woke up and began to run in its wheel.

Steve watched, open-mouthed, as a series of increasingly preposterous events took over the whole workshop.

“He’s been working on this all week,” Bruce murmured, grinning from ear to ear.

“He’s testing us,” Clint muttered, as the Iron Man helmet was pushed off its shelf by a bowling ball, dropping to the floor with a sickening crash. “Good kid.”

“You filming this, J?” Sam asked.

“Of course, Mr. Wilson.”

Picking up on their reactions, Tony seemed to have relaxed slightly. He was smiling as the whirlwind of painstakingly-orchestrated chaos careened toward him, and, although Steve’s hands twitched to pluck him out of there, he had to admit the kid seemed in control. Sam whistled as an electric fan blew over a precariously-balanced stack of Jenga blocks; they fell onto a lever, lifting a barrier in front of a jug of green liquid.

The jug wobbled down toward the table, between two sloping poles just close together enough to support it. It was stopped by a barrier where the table started, only tipping forward enough for a thin stream of liquid to escape the spout. Just enough to fill Tony’s empty glass.

Tony picked it up and took a sip. “You see?” he said. He was grinning, but Steve could see his hand shaking, nervousness in his eye. “I don’t need looking after. I can take care of myself.”

The five of them immediately burst into applause. Clint and Bruce laughed openly, and Sam bounded down to the center of the workshop and shook Tony’s hand with mock gravitas, clasping his shoulder. Steve caught Nat’s eye; she was smiling, a real smile. “We did it,” she mouthed.

Steve jumped down to join Sam and Tony, broadcasting his intent as clearly as he could. “That was amazing,” he said. “A Rube Goldberg machine, right? Clint showed me videos a few months ago.” Tony nodded shyly.

“Jarvis suggested it, earlier this week.”

“Well, Jarvis and you are both very clever. I can barely work my way around a smoothie machine.” Tony blushed, but seemed happy, leaning into the arm Sam tucked around him.

“Dude.” Clint appeared, holding something small and white in his hand. “Is this mouse a _robot_?”

“It’s electronic, yes,” Tony said, fidgeting. “I didn’t want to shoot one of your mice,” he said, glancing up at Bruce.

“ _Sick_ ,” Clint said, holding it up to his eyes and running a thumb over its back. Tony looked nervous, but Steve leaned in conspiratorially.

“That means ‘good’. Weird, I know.”

“Can I keep it?” Clint asked, balancing it on his shoulder.

“You want it?” Tony looked stunned. “It needs new batteries, but –“

“I won’t take it from you, I mean, if you want to keep it, but I’d _love_ a robot mouse. Don’t have to worry about remembering to feed it, or it dying when I’m on missions.” Tony positively beamed.

“You can have it.”

“Result!” Clint punched the air, and went to pick up its wheel from across the room.

“That was really impressive, Tony,” Bruce said, taking the stairs down to join them.

“But it wasn’t … necessary. Or useful,” Tony said, looking down at his hands, shifting from one foot to the other.

“ _Exactly_ ,” Sam said emphatically. “That’s what made it so great. It was hilarious; I’m going to treasure that footage forever. Want to watch it over with me?”

Tony looked up, cheeks still red, eyes sparkling and smile wide.

“Yes, please.”

***

“’So …’ Professor Lupin had taken out his own wand, and indicated that Harry should do the same. ‘The spell I am going to try and teach you is highly advanced magic, Harry – well beyond Ordinary Wizarding Level. It is called the Patronus Charm.’”

“Can Dr. Strange do ‘highly advanced magic’?”

Natasha looked up from the book, and smiled. She was sat on a chair next to his bed, reading by the dim light of his lamp.

“Yes, I think so. Mind you, I don’t know many wizards with which to compare him.”

“Can he cast a Patronus Charm?”

“Well –“ Natasha pursed her lips, and seemed to consider. “I’m not sure he needs to. You see, as far as we know, Dementors don’t exist.”

“Oh.” Tony blushed. “Sorry.”

“No, no, don’t be sorry. When I first found out about magic, I was questioning all sorts of things. Werewolves, vampires … All I seem to have learned is that we never stop learning.” Tony nodded.

It was warm under the covers, and it matched the warmth inside him. He could trust these people; he knew that now. He’d spent money and resources on a machine to pour smoothies, and Steve had called it ‘amazing’. Clint had wanted to keep his toy mouse.

So he let himself relax. It was such a lovely feeling, as Natasha’s soft voice spun a wondrous world, a world where a boy traveled to a place of magic, a place where he was loved.

“’The Patronus is a kind of positive force, a projection of the very things that the Dementor feeds upon – hope, happiness, the desire to survive…’”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you haven't seen a Rube Goldberg machine before, check [out](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=auIlGqEyTm8) [these](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GOMIBdM6N7Q) [videos](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4jruLdkHhi4), they're great.
> 
> As always, I live and breathe for your generous kudos and comments. Also, how awesome was Captain Marvel? Right?? Right???


	19. Chapter 19

“You could at least  _pretend_  to have faith in my abilities,” Strange snapped.

“Can it, Glinda,” Clint said, stroking the mouse. ‘Lucky’, he’d named it. He winced. “Uh, Steve, she’s a –"

“I know that one,” Steve said quietly, propping his forehead up with his thumbs.

“How long will it take?” Sam asked, pacing the empty lab.

“Hard to say. I won’t know for sure until I begin, but likely under two minutes.”

“Well, that’s very reassuring,” Clint muttered, letting Lucky run over his fingers.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Do you know any other wizards you’d rather hire?”

“If only,” Sam murmured.

“Could everyone  _be quiet_?” Steve said, trying to restrain his tone and failing slightly. “Like my mother used to say,” he added sardonically. “‘If you can’t say anything nice, don’t say anything at all.’”

“Ooh, can I write that down? I’ve been looking for a new cross-stitch project,” Clint said.

“I know he’s small, but no-one’s legs are  _that_ short. Where the hell are they?” asked Sam.

“At the end of the corridor, Mr. Wilson. They will be with you presently.”

“Right. Big smiles all around, this is a normal day,” Steve said with forced joviality, trying to slow his pulse by sheer force of will. A few seconds later, Bruce came in, followed by Tony and Nat.

“OK, Tony.” Bruce knelt down so that he was eye-level with the kid. “I’m afraid I can’t be here while Strange is helping you out.” Steve’s eyebrows rose.

“Bruce, are you sure –"

“No variables, Steve. It’s the way it has to be.” Bruce’s tone brooked no argument, although his face was ashen. He took one of Tony’s hands in his. Tony’s eyes were wide and liquid, his lower lip protruding slightly. “I’ll see you in ten minutes, alright? Only this time, you’ll be allowed at the table with all the exciting equipment.” From behind, Nat rested a hand on Tony’s shoulder, and Tony nodded. Bruce ruffled his hair, then left the room without looking back.

“Hi, Tony,” Strange said softly, and the kid seemed to relax a little. “How are you feeling?”

“Good, thank you.”

“Hungry?” Tony hesitated, then nodded, smiling sheepishly. Strange chuckled.

“Good, you’ve been following my instructions. You’ll be able to eat in a couple of minutes. Like Dr. Banner said, we’ll be done soon.” God, why couldn’t he be this pleasant all the time? Tony looked at Nat. She took some books from a bag slung over her shoulder, and handed them to him. He proffered them to Strange.

“I finished your books,” he said. “Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome, Tony,” Strange said, taking them. He flicked his hand, and a thick red book appeared on top of the stack. “I’ll just put these down here, with the fourth  _Harry Potter_  book, for when we’re done.” Tony beamed.

“Shouldn’t you be saving your energy?” Clint said curtly. A flicker of a frown passed over Strange’s face, but then he smiled pleasantly.

“Perhaps I can give you a lesson in magic theory when I’m finished here,” he said. “Does anyone else have questions, before I begin? Neither myself nor Tony can be disturbed once the spell is in progress.”

“No, thank you, Stephen,” Nat said. She bent down, and hugged Tony tightly. “You’re going to be fine.”

“Thank you for looking after me,” Tony said, a small hand clasped around her arm.

“Don’t worry,” Nat said, winking. “I look after adult you as well.” Sam snorted, and Tony turned to him, half reaching out an arm. Sam slapped his palm.

“No goodbyes necessary, man. You know I’m not going anywhere until we have a Space Invaders rematch.” Tony turned to Steve, cheeks pink. Steve blanched inwardly at the thought of facing his friend after this. Where did one even begin?

“It’s been fun having you around,” Steve said awkwardly. He pretended to ignore Nat rolling her eyes.

“It was nice to meet you, Steve.” The kid still sounded stiff. Steve might cry with joy the next time Tony mocked him mercilessly.

“Thanks for the mouse, kid,” Clint said, holding up Lucky. “I’ll be badgering you to make more when you’re grown up.” Tony grinned.

“I think I’d like that.”

“Without further ado,” Strange murmured, positioning Tony to stand directly in front of him. “Abra-cadabra …” Tony giggled, and, at that moment, Strange pressed a finger to his forehead. A cold blast of air pushed the rest of them back a couple of steps. Steve’s stomach suddenly felt like it was on the Coney Island Cyclone; from the careful breaths Clint was taking, he guessed he wasn’t the only one. His ears hurt, not from noise but from vibrations, vibrations he swore he could see shaking the air in front of him. Clint took his hearing aids out, cursing under his breath. Steve looked toward Tony and Strange, wanting to ask if this was normal but scared of disturbing the spell – and realized he couldn’t see them. Every time it felt like his eyes should focus, the area around the two of them would shift, a flickering blur of dark gray, somewhere between visibility and nothingness. Steve was alarmed to see that Clint had covered his eyes now, and was leaning against the wall; Sam approached him, moving like he was wading through the blob-monster’s insides, and started speaking into his ear. Steve had given up on watching Strange and Tony – it was like looking through lenses with the wrong prescription, and his head was pounding; but Nat was staring intently into the blur, brow furrowed and hands curled into fists.

Suddenly, light shone out from where Strange and Tony stood, so bright that Steve covered his eyes. After a few seconds, he squinted, and saw that it had resolved into glowing rings, revolving around Tony with dizzying speed. There was a second blast, this time of heat, pushing Steve into the wall – and then stillness.

His pulse thundering in his ears, Steve lowered his hands, the outline of the rings burned into his vision. Clint was sat on the floor, Sam crouched beside him, speaking in a murmur Steve consciously tuned out. Nat stood as before, hair wild but otherwise steadfast, eyes focused on Strange. Strange, who was gazing at Tony’s adult body, prone on the floor.

Clint was somehow the first to speak. He pulled himself up by Sam’s arm, shaking and gray-faced, but his voice was furious.

“ _You said it wouldn’t hurt him_.”

Bruce burst through the door, and, once Strange had raised his eyebrows in assent, rushed to check Tony’s pulse and breathing.

“He was asleep when the spell initially took effect,” Strange said, in measured tones. “This is only natural. It alleviates the shock to the system.”

“He seems fine,” Bruce said, breathing out slowly. Strange rolled his eyes. “Jarvis?”

“Vitals normal, Dr. Banner,” Jarvis responded. “He appears to be in a deep sleep.”

“Oh, would you look at that,” Strange murmured. Sam rose to his full height, eyes sparking dangerously.

“Is there a reason you didn’t tell us about the 4D experience, douchebag?” he demanded, shoulders rigid.

“I assumed it was common sense that this would be a little more dramatic than pulling a rabbit out of a hat. I –" his eyes flickered to Clint, who was now standing with Nat, watching Bruce knelt beside Tony. “I didn’t realize.”

“You didn’t think,” Sam snarled. Steve was getting ready to step in, when Bruce spoke.

“Guys.” Tony was stirring, eyes moving beneath the lids, moaning softly. “Tony. Tony?”

“Wuhhhat?” Tony snorted, and his eyes half-opened. “Christ. Bruce?”

“How do you feel?” Bruce asked.

“Like my eyeballs are bleeding. Are my eyeballs bleeding?” Tony  squinted up at Strange. “What are you doing here? Are you making my eyeballs bleed? ‘Cause that takes horseplay a little too far.” Strange threw his hands up in exasperation.

“Do you remember anything?” Clint asked shortly. Tony craned his neck to try and get a look at him, and, when that proved futile, propped himself up on his elbows.

“Remember what? I – I was in bed. What happened?”

A shudder seemed to pass through the group. Bruce slumped back onto his heels, and Sam cursed softly. Nat was impassive, although Steve saw Clint rest a hand on the small of her back.

“It was, uh. You …” Steve supposed the onus was on him to explain, once again. Tony blinked, and pushed himself up to a seated position.

“Uncle Sam! What crawled up your top hat and died?”

“You’ve been seven years old for the past week, Tony.”

After a pause, Tony chuckled nervously. “OK. I’m all for fun and games, but roofieing is in pretty poor taste, I hear. Not sure how they did things in the dark ages, but –"

“I’m not messing around, Tony.” Steve took a deep breath, frustrated by how easy it was to fall into old habits. “You’ve been seven years old, mentally and physically. That flying lady in white cursed you. We’ve been looking after you, and Stephen just turned you back.”

Tony blinked. “This is a joke, right? You’ve been operating, what, baby day-care from Avengers Tower? J?”

“Captain Rogers is telling the truth, Sir. Might I say, it’s a pleasure to have you back.”

“… Riiight.”

Clint turned to Strange. “Is he going to remember?”

Strange shrugged. “I don’t know. The magic’s done. This is as much your jurisdiction as mine.” Steve could see Clint gearing up for a scathing response, so he jumped in.

“Thank you so much for your help, Stephen. We’re indebted to you. We can take it from here.” Strange nodded, for once seeming to sense when it was time to keep quiet. He spun a portal and left, Clint glaring sourly as it closed behind him.

“I’m going to be way behind on work,” Tony said, his voice strained. “I’d better get to the workshop, call Pepper.”

“She’s been covering for you,” Steve said, trying for reassurance.

“So what else is new,” Tony said, getting to his feet. “See you all later. I’ll add babysitting money to your pay.”

“Sure. Thanks,” Sam said with quiet sarcasm, as the door swung shut behind him. Sam shook his head. “I’m going out on patrol.” He clapped Nat on the back on his way out. Bruce was still knelt on the floor, gaze distant. Nat stepped forward, and shook him gently by the shoulder.

“Come on, Puny Banner. Time for some hand-to-hand.” Bruce nodded, head loose on his shoulders. He allowed Nat to pull him up, and the two of them left. Steve met Clint’s eye, searching for an answer. Something to get them through this.

Clint shrugged.

***

Tony sat in his workshop, staring at his flexed fingers. Callused and nicked with scars, veins raised on the backs of his hands.

“I don’t remember anything, J,” he murmured.

“I could recover some security footage, if you wish, Sir?”

“God, I don’t – I’m not sure I want to know. Do you have, uh – a picture, maybe? Of what I looked like?”  _Was I hurt?_ The words stuck in his throat, but it didn't matter. He was a smart kid, used to hiding things like that. He stared at the display that popped up. “Jesus. It’s like Bambi in pants.”

“You were well cared for, Sir.”

“Here? By whom?”

“It was a team effort.”

“I’d say. I wouldn’t trust this lot to parent a hamster.  _Ah_ , shit –"

“Sir, are you well? Calling Dr. Banner.”

“ _Cancel_ , cancel that, I just – shit –" He dug his thumbs in above the bridge of his nose, trying to drive back the thudding pain. “Jarvis –  _fuck_ , I can’t see, play the –"

“Your readings do not indicate an anxiety attack, Sir.”

“My head feels like it’s about to explode. Are the lights flashing?”

“They are not. If your symptoms do not alleviate immediately, I will override –"

“Wait – wait, it’s fading, it’s …” Tony sat in silence for a few seconds. Then he staggered to the trash can, and dry-heaved.

“I suggest you eat and drink something, Sir. Your fast before Dr. Strange’s spell may explain some of these symptoms.”

“We’ve talked about that before.”

“Sir?”

“The – the hamster thing. It … we were at the table. And. I made Clint a mouse. I made … didn’t I have a whole set-up in here?”

“It was cleared away last night.”

“Oh, fuck. Jarvis.”

“Have you regained your memories, Sir?”

“I … I’m not sure. It’s like the worst hangover ever. Lights off.” Tony sat in the dark. It was as if his brain were playing a movie, at a rate of twelve frames per second from a broken projector, with sudden moments of unforgiving clarity.

“Fuck.  _Fuck_.” He started the breathing exercises Bruce had taught him, only to be greeted by a memory of Bruce going through the same motions with his panicked, child self. “Jarvis, I really fucked up.”

“I can assure you, Sir, you are the only one who believes that.”

“No, everyone else thinks I’m some sort of - of charity case." He was shaking now, and he tried to stop, but every muscle resisted him. Trapped in a suit he couldn't control. He took a great, gasping breath as the edges of his vision started to blur. "Oh, my god. Steve. No, DUM-E, not an applicable situation, get away with that fire extinguisher. No, don’t  _go away_ , come here.” He pressed his burning cheeks against the cool metal of DUM-E’s arm, as memories washed over him.

“We deemed his well-meaning agency a potential hazard to your younger self. He has missed you.” Holding Nat’s hand … quiet, always so fucking quiet, and asking Steve about  _Howard_  –

“Did they believe me?”

“Sir?”

“I said I fell.” Fucking genius at work, right there. “Did they believe me?”

“No.”

“Don’t sugar-coat it, J.”

“My apologies, Sir. Would you like me to call Miss Potts?”

“No, fuck no, this isn’t her problem, I can’t – Just send her an email saying I’m back to normal, and to let me know how much shit I’m in.” He pressed a hand to his chest through his shirt – what cheap shit had Stephen conjured this out of? –  feeling the scar tissue, his heart beating underneath, faster and faster.

“Of course, Sir.”

“Hey. DUM-E. Can you get me a smoothie? You can make it poisonous, I won’t mind.” He watched the robot trundle away, stomach sinking through the floor as he remembered some of the finer points of the past week.

“J, can you – the, uh –"  _Fuck, come on._  “Lockdown, please.”  _Thud._  “Rhodey’s on deployment, right?”

“I’m afraid so, Sir.”

“I, uh. Never pegged Nat for a hugger. Or Nat-and-Bruce as … mutual huggers … fuck, how the hell do I look them in the eye after this?” Tony made an effort to unclench his fist as he felt nails digging into his palm.  _Breathe in, two, three, out, two, three, four._

“I’m afraid you’re testing the limits of my abilities, Sir. I can offer Wiki-how articles.”

“Oh, he’s funny. He’s a funny, funny AI.”

 Fuck. He brought up a display, and started typing a message to Bruce.

_~~Hey, Bruski~~ _ ~~~~

_~~Bruce, I~~ _ ~~~~

_~~Thanks for putting up with my~~ _ ~~~~

He closed the display.

 _Fuck_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sunshine, lollipops and rainbows, anyone?
> 
> You guys are the reason I write! Comments and kudos are treasured xx


	20. Chapter 20

“He’s not going to want to talk about it, Bruce.” Her eyes stung before she remembered to blink. She was reliving the blood draining from Stark’s face as the information had sunk in, his hand twitching to cover the now-absent arc reactor, a tell he was doing a terrible job of shaking. The man who held the Guinness World Record for the longest party had suddenly developed an awareness of company time, and left the room with his eyes to the floor like a man hounded. “If he’s unsure, Jarvis will dispel any doubt about what we know. There was an opening for him to discuss it with us, and he bolted. I’d be surprised if we see him for days.”

Bruce sighed, and she fought the urge to punch something. That was all he’d done for the past two hours. Look pale and miserable, sit on his lab stool, and sigh. “He’s not … he does try to reach out, sometimes, you know.”

“Like when?” Anger, ugly and dark, was surging inside her, resisting her best efforts at control. This was  _unfair_. This pale shell she’d been left with. Stark’s inability to talk, just  _talk_ to them, and his failure to recognize that his behavior had consequences beyond himself.

“I fucked up once. He gave me an opening, and I fucked up, and … I’ve felt bad about it, but god I feel awful now. He’s … You can’t judge him from what you read in the papers five years ago.”

“I can judge him on what I  _experienced_  five years ago.” She concentrated, very hard, on the asshole who had pissed in his suit, who had stared as she took down Hogan, who had been every bit the petulant child.

“Nat … don’t do that.”

“ _Do_  what?” Bruce certainly wasn’t doing anything.

“I can hear the little keys turning in your soul. He was a good kid. Let yourself have that.”

“He wasn’t a kid.” Her throat swallowed what she didn’t want to say.  _He wasn’t our kid_. “Not really.”

Suddenly Bruce straightened in his chair, eyes wide. She spun around. Stark was stood in the lab doorway, one hand on his chest, fingers drumming nervously against his breastbone. He was uncharacteristically silent – and yet, characteristic of the child they’d grown used to, the child who never really had been and never would be.

“I just wanted to say …” Stark stopped, started again. “I just wanted to say –” Shaking his head, he shrugged. “You know what – never mind.”

“What is it, Stark?” she said, and she didn’t like the way it felt on her tongue, didn’t like the way Bruce looked at her, shocked and hurt. But this wasn’t fair on Bruce, and it wasn’t fair on her. She remembered the way Bruce had spoken to her, after she and Sam had talked Steve down. How earnest he’d been.  _“You did the right thing. Not the easy thing, but the right thing. I thank you for that, and the team thanks you for that, and if Tony had the capacity to know what was going on, he would too. What I wouldn’t have given to have you when I …”_  He had reached forward, squeezed her hands, and it had been a second before she was sure she wasn’t going to jerk them away.  _“If you’re doubting yourself, it’s because you’re human, and because you’re looking after a child. Not because you’re you. I have a better idea of what he needs now, and I’m planning to step up. But I hope you’ll help me.”_  If Stark was going to be a coward and ignore the past week, ignore what had changed, then she’d rather know how much denial he was planning to manifest. Rip off the Band-Aid so she could start building with what she had left.

“I remember.”

Bruce’s stool creaked, too loud in the silence.

“What you guys did for me. I just wanted to thank you, for –” Tony closed his eyes, and she wanted to shout for him to open them, the same eyes as he’d had this morning. “For being better parents to me than mine ever were. Although I guess you know that now.” His laugh was bitter, hands shaking, and she forced herself to consider that Tony didn’t seem to have told anyone, apart from Pepper and his AI, the truth about his childhood in thirty years. “Anyway, even if it was only for a week – and I know it’s weird, now that I’m an adult, but I thought I ought to say –” Bruce surged forward and hugged him, a huff of air leaving Tony as he was forced to rock back onto his heels. Then he closed his eyes, and hid his face in the crook of Bruce’s neck. Nat leaned against the table, watching them together, swayed gently by their own pulses. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” Tony mumbled, and she swallowed down tears as Bruce replied.

“It’s OK. I understand.”

She thought about having her own son. About him growing, improving, learning, under the sight of the best man she knew. She hesitated. Then she went to join them.

***

Steve picked up the screwdriver, then put it down again. Then he picked up the screwdriver. And put it down again. He picked up the screwdriver.

“Are you looking for something, Captain?”

“Hm?” He put the screwdriver down guilty. “No, I … was just … Will he be here soon, Jarvis?”

“I am not sure. If you would like to come back later, I can notify you when he returns?”

“No, no, that’s fine, I’ll wait.” If he left now, he wouldn’t have the guts to come back. It had taken about half an hour of pacing to convince himself that he should talk to Tony, and another five embarrassing minutes of going up and down in the elevator before he’d talked himself into visiting his workshop. And after all that, Tony hadn’t even been there. When he’d asked Jarvis whether it was OK for him to go in, he’d been met with an impassive,  _“I have no instructions to revoke your usual clearance.”_  It was very possible that he was the last person on Earth Tony wanted to see, but he thought that made it all the more important that he show. They still needed to work together, and unfortunately it wasn’t up to Steve how soon.

He thought he might understand, now, why Tony had been so – well, at the time, he’d have said ‘abrasive’, for the first few months they’d worked together. And although he’d come to count Tony among his friends, he was second-guessing that now. Had it been resignation, a sense of obligation, on Tony’s part? Steve’s behavior could hardly have helped his case. To think, when he used to talk about Howard, he had imagined that Tony might be grateful to hear more stories of his old man. Had imagined his silence as interest.  _God_.

He’d come here to talk out the past week with Tony, to see how they could move on, how Tony  _wanted_  to move on; had even prepared himself to accept that they were destined to be colleagues, not friends. But it was becoming apparent that he was the last person qualified for a conversation like that.

He turned to leave, shame burning his cheeks, and found Tony in the doorway.

“What are you doing here?” From the way Tony winced, Steve guessed he hadn’t meant it to come out so accusatory. “I mean. Not that you’re – of course you’re welcome, I just wasn’t expecting you. Here.” He looked awkward. Of course he did; Steve realized a part of him had hoped that Tony would breeze in, as unbothered as ever, sending a few jabs and an incredible tech development his way. That everything would return to normal. Steve had seen enough people turn away from battle to recognize his own cowardice.

“Yeah, I know. Sorry. I just …” He was struck by a sudden urge to hug Tony. He wished they had that kind of relationship, where you could just hold someone until all was forgiven, until it all went away. But they didn’t, and fiery guilt was clogging his throat. It was hard to breathe, let alone talk. “I just wanted to check that you were OK.”  _Fuck._

“OK? Yeah, I’m fine.” His voice sounded scratchy, Steve thought, and he wanted to ask, but he didn’t.

“Good. That’s good.” His hand flexed. Tony looked toward the screwdriver, brow furrowed, and for a moment Steve wondered wildly whether he knew where it was meant to go, whether he could tell that Steve had been fiddling around. The silence stretched.

“Are  _we_ OK?”

“Hm?” Steve had been listening so intently to the silence – the whir of machinery, of air-conditioning, of a refrigerator - that he almost missed it.

“You look, I don't know,  _not_  ready to lead a band of plucky hooligans against Dr. Robotnik. And you won’t look me in the eye, which is a nice change from being pierced with steely blue icicles, but still unsettling.”

“I just, uh.” He could hear his own heartbeat. Was he making a mistake, like so many times before? Would it be better not to bring it up? Was he really going to make Tony talk about his father  _again_? “While you were a kid –“

“You can save it, if you’re trying to give me a blow-by-blow. I remember in excruciating detail.”

“You – you  _remember_?”

“Yep.” Tony pulled a stool over, and Steve tried not to wince at the screech of metal on metal. “I don’t know if you remember what it’s like to be hungover, but imagine that, while someone’s playing steel drums with a jackhammer, and someone else is playing a movie on a projector you’d recognize. Happened about ten minutes after I left you guys.”

“Oh. Well.” Any momentum he’d had was immediately lost.

“You’re killing me here, Steve. Pretend you just caught me with my hand in the cookie jar, you know, something to really get you going.” Steve laughed, kind of desperately, and Tony’s eyebrows rose. “What, I’m away for one week and you develop a sense of humor?”

“No, it’s just … it’s just nice to hear you joking.” The end came out too earnest, despite his best efforts. Tony’s brow creased, and he nodded slightly, looking away.

“Ah. So we’re having  _that_ conversation.”

“Wh- I’m not trying to … What conversation?” Tony shrugged, and twisted the fingers of one hand in the other, something Steve now recognized from his anxious child self. But the expression wasn’t the same. Defensive, rather than fearful.

“I’m not sure. I guess I’ve never really had it before.”

“Look … Tony, I’m not trying to pry –” Tony laughed, false and jarring, before he could finish.

“’Not trying to pry.’ That’s nice, real nice to hear. I find it kind of hard to believe, you know, considering you observed me in half-pint form for a week, but –”

“I’m sorry, what were we meant to do? Hire a nanny?” Steve raised his voice. “You think this was a game for us? You missed it, but for a time we weren’t sure when we would have you back! You know how stressful it is, looking after a kid, knowing every move you make could be a serious fuck-up? All I wanted was to do right by you, but God knows it felt like I failed every step of the way, and it fucking seems like I might have been screwed from the starting line!”

Tony’s gaze was measured and cool. “You done?”

“I –“ Steve blinked, suddenly unsure what to do with all the energy raging through his body. “I …”

“That’s what you wanted to say, right? You wanted to ask what I’d been told about you?”

Steve looked at him. “Did you do that on purpose?”

Tony raised one shoulder. “Maybe.” Steve breathed out shakily, his shoulders relaxing.

“Sorry. I don’t mean to get so …”

“I know. I don’t mean to be so gorgeous and effortlessly charming. It’s an occupational hazard.”

“There were … some things you said. And that Sam said, to be honest, that just made me think. That maybe there were some things you hadn’t told me.”

“And was that wrong of me?” Tony’s gaze was testing, always.

“No! No, I should have … well, from what Nat’s said, I probably should have taken a hint –“

“Wow, I wish I could have been at this board meeting.”

“No, it wasn’t  _like_  that – see, this is the point I’m trying to make, I’m messing this up, I  _keep_ messing this stuff up. I can’t read people, Tony, not like you or Nat can, but I know that something’s wrong, that something’s maybe been wrong for a long time. And I don’t want to make it worse, so tell me, please.” He made his voice firm. This was for the good of the team. “I don’t want to ruin this.” Tony was still for a long moment. Then he sighed.

“Right. I’m going to make this as brief and as painless as possible, not from the goodness of my heart, but because this fucking sucks for me as well.” He traced a circle over his chest, eyes flitting from Steve’s to the floor. “Howard was very proud that he knew you. To me, it seemed like it was about the proudest he’d ever been of anything. He talked about you like you were a mixture between his son, a pet project, and God. I say this because it’s not you who’s ruining things, not really, and I’ll be damned if I let that bastard take anything else from me.

“You were like the big brother I could never even touch. And it didn’t help that I was small, or that my fucking  _business goals_  didn’t align with that of a sixty-year-old warmonger.  _Cap_  would want to help old Dad beat the enemy,  _Cap_  would get this hunk of metal to kill more people,  _Cap_  would sacrifice his life for the military and you won’t even make weapons,  _Cap_  would be better, Cap  _was_ better. God, I hated you.” He snorted. “I’d offer you a drink, but J has instructions to lock down all the alcohol when I think about this stuff, the bastard. I guess whiskey wouldn’t help you much, anyway. Supersoldier sunnovabitch.

“Anyway, so you were, uh. Often the carrot and the stick of my not-so-functional childhood. You may have gathered that there was more stick than carrot.” He shook his head, eyes dark. “Every year, he’d go on a trip to look for you. And every year, he’d make sure I was fucking terrified of what would happen if you came back. A little something extra to keep me well-behaved while he was gone.” There was a croak Steve imagined might have been intended as a laugh. “He didn’t seem to think that you’d approve of me much.”

“Tony … I didn’t mean – there were things I said to you, early on, I wasn’t –” Tony waved him off.

“Stop, stop, I’m not done, and I can’t keep coming back to this shit, so you’re going to have to can it. I know this wasn’t the man you knew, or the one you talk about, anyway, because you’re a good guy, Steve, you really are. God knows I didn’t want you to be. I wanted everything he said about you to be true. But it wasn’t, which left me with what I’d known for a long time; that I had a shitty dad, and it was no-one’s fault but his. Which sucked ass. Because when you get to that point, it’s easier to blame yourself. Apparently that’s why therapy is good and alcohol is bad.” Tony rolled his eyes, injecting some performance into his speech. “I’ve tried to reason it out. I think the war fucked him up. God knows it seemed to fuck up just about everyone. And … to be honest, I think it fucked him up when you crashed that plane. But, you know. I figure it’s a choice between fucked-up and dead, so. Thanks.”

Steve waited for the silence to hang, waited to be sure.

“Tony. I didn’t know you, when I met you. I said some things, but I wasn’t angry at you, I was angry at  _everything._ You’re basically the living embodiment of ‘the future’, and ... it seemed like everything was water off a duck’s back to you. I wouldn’t have said them if I’d known they’d hurt.”  _Wouldn’t he have? Hadn’t he known?_ “But that’s no excuse. There is no excuse, and I’m sorry.” Tony nodded, but his expression wasn’t what Steve had expected.

“I said some pretty shitty things to you, too, in case you’re forgetting.”

“I … we were both angry. You had no responsibility –“

“And you did? I’m, what, fifteen years older than you?” Steve was taken aback, for a second, by someone acknowledging his actual age. “You’d only just finished your Vanilla Ice tribute act. It wasn’t the time for me to dump my shit on you.”

“You’ve never ‘dumped your shit’ on me. The way I’ve – the way I’ve spoken about –“

“Jesus, Steve, he’s not Voldemort.”

“Howard?  _That_  wasn’t right.”

“Maybe not. I’m glad we’ve cleared that up. But you’re not exactly on cloud nine yourself, are you?”

“I don’t – that’s not relevant. I’m just … I’m  _sorry_ , Tony. I keep thinking, maybe if I’d done something differently, maybe Howard –“

“Uh-uh-uh.” Tony raised a hand in the air. “Do you hear that? That’s the sound of the ‘you’re-fucking-up’ siren. I’m having one installed, especially for you, to keep you out of conversational pot-holes.”

“Well, I  _do_.” Could one conversation – about the war, about family, about life after – have changed Tony’s whole childhood? Every night since Steve had found out, a thousand things he could have said had played in his head. Eventually he’d fall into a fitful sleep, in which Howard worked on his shield, flirted with girls, flew his plane, deaf to Steve yelling, screaming at him to listen. It was sickening, maddening.

“If you’re hiding a T.A.R.D.I.S in that pert little ass of yours, by all means carry on. Otherwise, I have no use for your pity, self- or otherwise.”

“This isn’t  _pity_.”

“God-complex, then.”

“Where the hell’d you get that from?”

“You think you should be able to control everything.” There was frustration in Tony's voice, one of his arms outstretched. “If anything goes wrong, it’s somehow your fault.”

“Sounds pretty familiar to me.” His mind caught up to his mouth. “Shit. Sorry, I –“

“ _Stop_  it.” Tony shook his head. “Can you stop treating me like I’m made of fucking HammerTech? You can pull the whole Mother Teresa act when you’re not a limping sack of mismanaged issues yourself.”

“Uh, if this is meant to be friendly –“

“It’s meant to be honest. The point is – we’d make shitty gods, Steve. Both of us. We can’t play fucking whack-a-mole with life.”

“Isn’t that our job?” Steve gestured around them. “Isn’t that what we’re trying to do here? What’s the point of – of any of this –“ he stopped as his voice cracked. Bucky’s screams rang in his ears. “If we can’t even protect what’s closest to us?”

Tony smiled. So odd that, for a moment, Steve wondered if his eyes were playing tricks on him. Tony looked tired, but he was smiling. Like he did when he’d found an answer.

“The way I see it … we’re not a preventative measure. Until we achieve world peace, we’re never going to have  _control_. But broken doesn’t mean beyond repair. Even if we’re called out to lost causes, again and again … we’ll fix them.” As if seeing through Steve’s smile to the despondency beneath, Tony stepped forward, and rested a hand on his arm. “That’s our job, Steve. It’s a hard one. No-one ever said otherwise. But we’re pretty damn great at it.”

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is the poem from which this work gets its title. ‘Prayer Before Birth’, by Louis MacNeice. I won’t put you through my analysis – suffice it to say that I find it extremely relevant to Tony.
> 
> I am not yet born; O hear me.  
> Let not the bloodsucking bat or the rat or the stoat or the  
>   club-footed ghoul come near me.
> 
> I am not yet born, console me.  
> I fear that the human race may with tall walls wall me,  
>   with strong drugs dope me, with wise lies lure me,  
>     on black racks rack me, in blood-baths roll me.
> 
> I am not yet born; provide me  
> With water to dandle me, grass to grow for me, trees to talk  
>   to me, sky to sing to me, birds and a white light  
>     in the back of my mind to guide me.
> 
> I am not yet born; forgive me  
> For the sins that in me the world shall commit, my words  
>   when they speak me, my thoughts when they think me,  
>     my treason engendered by traitors beyond me,  
>       my life when they murder by means of my  
>         hands, my death when they live me.
> 
> I am not yet born; rehearse me  
> In the parts I must play and the cues I must take when  
>   old men lecture me, bureaucrats hector me, mountains  
>     frown at me, lovers laugh at me, the white  
>       waves call me to folly and the desert calls  
>         me to doom and the beggar refuses  
>           my gift and my children curse me.
> 
> I am not yet born; O hear me,  
> Let not the man who is beast or who thinks he is God  
>   come near me.
> 
> I am not yet born; O fill me  
> With strength against those who would freeze my  
>   humanity, would dragoon me into a lethal automaton,  
>     would make me a cog in a machine, a thing with  
>       one face, a thing, and against all those  
>         who would dissipate my entirety, would  
>           blow me like thistledown hither and  
>             thither or hither and thither  
>               like water held in the  
>                 hands would spill me.
> 
> Let them not make me a stone and let them not spill me.  
> Otherwise kill me.
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Annnnnd we're done. Gosh. I hope you enjoyed my story! I'm absolutely thrilled at having, you know, written it - I've never finished a piece of this length before. Thank you so much to all those who commented - I might not know you and you might not know me, but you gave me the confidence and motivation to carry on writing.
> 
> I've spent long enough with these characters to really care for them, sooo this may well not be the end for this specific iteration of the Avengers. If I ever write my version of how Bucky is brought in from the cold, this will be the 'verse I use. So feel free to subscribe or bookmark in eventual expectation of that. As far as other projects go, I've [just posted](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18432635/chapters/43663406) the first chapter of a classic Peter-Parker's-School-Goes-On-A-Trip-To-An-SI-Facility-And-Flash-Gets-His-Comeuppance fic (it's significantly lighter in tone); tried and tested though the format is, I promise I've done my best to make it somewhat original! In the future there's also a long stony AU I want to write, and potentially a long frostiron piece (0 points to anyone who can guess who my favorite character is).
> 
> So you know the drill - you can [subscribe to me on Ao3](https://archiveofourown.org/users/coveredsnow/profile) to be updated when new chapters or new fics are posted, and follow me at [coveredsnow](http://coveredsnow.tumblr.com/) on tumblr for news about other fics, updates, and to hmu with any questions (just because I've finished writing it, doesn't mean I want to stop talking about it!). 
> 
> Kudos and comments are always treasured.
> 
> Thank you so much for coming on this journey with me.
> 
> \- coveredsnow


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